Handcuffs and White Lies
by CrystalSelkie
Summary: Reeling from the aftermath of the plane explosion, Nora and Peter attempt to return to business as usual while they search for answers surrounding the music box. Following their two elusive leads, Fowler and the Patchwork Man, brings them closer to uncovering a mystery from the past and the man behind it all. Part three of the Handcuffs and High Heels series. Genderbent Neal AU.
1. Aftermath

Chapter One

Aftermath

It seemed like the world had caught fire. Noise and heat and light flared up all at once, and he watched as the shock wave sent Nora sprawling to the ground. Peter ran forward as she clamored clumsily to her feet.

She turned slowly, eyes locking on the fiery wreckage that lay before them, pieces of metal raining down around the blaze. "NO!" she shrieked.

She started to run, but Peter moved in a flash. His arms wrapped tightly around her middle. "No! No!"

"No," he shouted. "Stay here. Stay back."

"No!" she wailed. "Let me go, Peter! Let me go!" She strained against his grasp with everything she had. She continued to scream in agony, stamping at his toes with her heels and scratching at his hands with her long fingernails. Desperate, she began beating her elbow against his chest with all her strength, each blow punctuated by a cry of "Let me go!"

Peter gritted his teeth against the pain and did not let go.

Slowly, her heart-rending screams started to quiet into sobs. She slumped against him, completely and utterly defeated, every ounce of fight drained from her lithe body. If he let go, she would have crumpled to the ground with no resistance. Peter turned her around gently. She wobbled unevenly on her feet for a moment, then buried her face against his chest and sobbed. Peter held her for what seemed like an eternity, numb from the cold, snow and ash mingling in the air and falling lightly around them. He held her long after she'd cried herself out, her fingers still clinging tightly to the back of his jacket. He held her until the cry of sirens cut through the air.

He guided her away gently as fire engines, ambulances, and police cars screeched to a stop on the air strip. She seemed to have gone catatonic, staring blankly ahead and hugging herself tightly. She shuddered violently. Peter shrugged out of his coat and draped it over her shoulders before helping her slowly into the passenger's seat in his car.

He made a quick call to Jones before stepping away to talk answer the police's questions. It didn't take long before Jones' car pulled to a stop along with the police cars. He and Hughes climbed out, eyes wide as they stared at the scene.

"What the hell is going on here, Peter?" Hughes demanded, pulling Peter away from the officer. "Where's Caffrey?"

"She's sitting in my car." They glanced over. She was still staring blankly ahead. "The plane went up shortly after I got here."

"Was she running?"

Peter hesitated. "It's more complicated than that-"

Hughes didn't look convinced. "She's off anklet, at an airstrip outside of her normal radius, and was about to get on that airplane before it went up, correct?"

"Yes," Peter admitted stiffly.

Hughes nodded once, having heard enough. "Jones, take her back to the bureau."

"Wait," Peter protested. "Look at her. She's not in any state to answer questions right now."

Hughes fixed him with a hard look. "Peter, she's in violation of the terms of her parole. She's a fleeing suspect."

Peter met his eyes evenly. "Kyle Moreau was on that plane."

Hughes paused. "Her boyfriend?" Peter nodded, and Hughes sighed deeply, casting another look over at her. She hadn't moved an inch. "My hands are tied, Peter. Something like this can't just be overlooked."

"I'm not saying overlook it," Peter sighed. "I'm saying hold off for a little bit. Bring her in in the morning." Hughes hesitated. "Look at her. She's not going anywhere tonight."

Hughes was silent for a moment, considering it. "Jones, take her home," he decided. "Sit on her apartment. I'll send someone to relieve you later." Jones nodded solemnly, heading over toward Peter's car. Hughes turned back to Peter. "But you're coming back with me and answering some questions, Peter."

Peter nodded. He'd expected that. He glanced over at Jones, who was trying to coax Nora from the car. The agent looked back at him, at a loss. With a sigh, Peter joined them. Jones stepped out of his way so he could bend down in front of the open car door.

"Nora?" he said gently. She didn't respond. "Hey, Jones is gonna take you home now, okay?" She blinked slowly. "I need you to go with him." He grabbed her shoulder lightly. "Nora?"

Slowly, she climbed out of the car, wobbling on her feet. She started to shrug out of his jacket. "Keep it," he insisted. "I'll come check on you later, okay?" She didn't agree or protest, just followed Jones to the other car. Peter watched her go, feeling helpless. She'd been through hell already, and the hits were only going to keep coming.

* * *

Hughes drilled Peter for what seemed like forever. Peter went over every detail he dared to divulge, leaving out Diana, the box, and the theft. He knew the box was safely with her, as he'd put it in her care before rushing off to the airstrip. Hughes tried to bring in Fowler, but it seemed the slippery OPR agent knew shit had hit the fan and went to ground.

Dusk was falling on the city by the time Peter made his way home. He'd promised to check up on Nora, but he felt grimy, covered in soot from the fire. Elizabeth was upstairs, reading a book when he got home. She looked up at him with concern when he entered the bedroom.

"Hey, honey. I've been trying to call you all afternoon."

"I know," he sighed, loosening the knot on his tie. "I'm sorry. It's been a busy day."

"I had the strangest call with Nora today. She sounded really… off."

"Yeah," he muttered. "I know." He unbuttoned his shirt. El's eyes grew wide, and he glanced down at his torso. It was lined with light, fresh bruises. She put her book down and stood, crossing to take a better look. He winced as she prodded one of the bruises lightly."

"Honey, what happened?"

"Nora," he admitted.

"She hit you?" she asked, bemused.

He sighed, sitting heavily on the foot of the bed. With a deep, steadying breath, he told her the events that had transpired. Her hand was over her mouth in shock as he finished. "That's awful. Oh, the poor dear, she must be devastated."

"Yeah… I promised I'd check on her, so I'm gonna take a quick shower before I head over." He left her to do just that. After washing away the soot and grime, he changed into fresh clothes and headed downstairs. A gentle, refreshing fragrance wafted out of the kitchen. El was stirring a pot of soup.

"That dinner?" he asked, looking over her shoulder.

"No, I figured Nora would be in no mood to cook. It's from that batch we canned last spring. Nothing fancy, just something warm and light..."

Peter kissed her on the top of her head. "I'm sure she'll appreciate it." She smiled sadly. When the soup was warmed, she put it in a storage container and sent Peter on his way.

Jones was still sitting in a car outside the apartment. He rolled down his window as Peter approached. "Any problems?"

Jones shook his head. "She didn't say a word the entire way here. Got her upstairs and talked to her landlady. That's about it." Peter nodded. He hadn't expected much else. "She's not doing well," he noted.

"I know," Peter sighed. Unable to think of anything else to say, he headed inside. He was let in and June met him at the bottom of the stairs. Her face was creased with worry.

"Agent Jones told me what happened," she said softly. "It's just awful."

"Yeah. Have you talked to her?" he asked hopefully.

"I tried, but she asked to be alone." Peter nodded tightly, expecting as much. "Peter, what's going to happen to her now?"

He sighed heavily. "She'll go in for questioning in the morning. After that…" June nodded sadly. "It's bad."

"Isn't there anything you can do?"

"I wish I could," he said earnestly, "but I'm on suspension. The best I can do is try and help her after I'm re-instated." A silence hung between them for a moment. "I'm going to try and talk to her." June squeezed his shoulder gently and moved out of his way.

Once at the top of the stairs, Peter paused with his hand on the doorknob. He didn't know what state Nora was going to be in when he opened the door. Instead, he knocked softly. "Nora?" There was no answer. "Nora?" he called again, knocking a little louder.

"Go _away, _Peter." she called back faintly. Ignoring her, he opened the door. She was slumped at the table, head buried in her arms. She'd changed into pajamas at some point, shorts and a baggy shirt. Her hair was unkempt, black strands sticking up in odd directions.

Peter walked slowly over to her. Before her on the table was a bottle of wine and a glass with just a reddish dribble left in the bottom. He picked up the bottle. Only about a quarter of the dark liquid remained.

"Nora?" He tapped her on the shoulder. "Nora, come on." Slowly, she sat up. Her eyes were red and puffy, but glazed over from the alcohol. She tottered back and forth in her seat.

"What do you want?" she asked, voice monotone and only slightly slurred.

A knot formed in his stomach as he looked at her. "Nora, drinking yourself silly isn't healthy."

She rolled her eyes dramatically. "Right. Thanks, dad, I'll keep that in mind." She she grabbed the glass and drained the last of the wine inside. She moved to pick up the bottle, but Peter pulled it out of her grasp. "Give it back."

"No, I'm cutting you off."

"Give it back!" she demanded, sounding like a bratty child. She lurched forward, trying to take the bottle, but he grabbed her by the wrist. With a grunt, she started straining to break free. "Damn it, Peter. I'm an adult, I'll drink as much as I damn well please."

"Stop," he snapped, and her eyes grew wide. She slumped back in her seat, looking remarkably like a kicked puppy. "Don't do this to yourself, Nora."

"Why not?" she said darkly. "What does it matter? What does anything matter?" He opened his mouth, hoping something would come to him, but she continued ranting. "I'm not stupid, Peter. I know this means I'm going back to prison. I know you can't do a damn thing about it because Fowler got you suspended. So what's the point?"

"Look," he said softly, "I know things hurt right now, but keeping on like this is just going to make you feel worse." She looked away, scowling. "You're not going to find what you're looking for in the bottom of this bottle."

Slowly, her expression started to soften, and she glanced back over at him. "I know. It's just..." Her lower lip started to tremble. She choked on a sob, trying desperately not to crumble, but it was too little, too late. She buried her face in her hands, body wracked with shudders as she cried. Peter watched uselessly.

Then, very suddenly, her eyes snapped up to his. Tears streaked down her red, splotchy face. "Peter… why did this happen?"

"I don't know," he admitted. She looked so utterly defeated. Peter swallowed down the lump in his throat. "I wish I did. But I promise you, we'll figure it out. Okay?" She nodded slowly, and as quickly as the tears came, they stopped. She hiccuped softly.

"Have you eaten?" he asked once she'd calmed down. She shook her head. "El made you some soup."

"I'm not hungry."

"You should try and eat a little," he insisted. "Okay? Just a little bit." She shrugged. He stood and found a bowl and spoon, pouring her just a little bit of soup. It was still warm enough, and he placed it in front of her. She toyed with the spoon for a moment before taking a bite. She wolfed it down, seemingly not even tasting it. "Do you want some more?"

"No."

"Okay," he relented. He put the rest of the soup in the fridge. "It's getting late. You should get some sleep."

"Okay."

"I'll talk to you tomorrow." She just nodded, standing to head over toward the bed. Peter turned the light off before letting himself out, knowing neither of them would be getting much sleep at all.


	2. Reinstated

Chapter Two

Reinstated

Hughes let Peter watch the interrogation the next morning as a favor, though Peter wasn't allowed to talk to Nora. To make matters worse, on top of being depressed, she was also very hung over and uncooperative. Though, he doubted the outcome would have changed much even if she'd been happy and talkative.

As Hughes had said before, his hands were tied. She'd cut her anklet, conspired with Fowler to flee, and was in the act of getting on the airplane before Peter stopped her. It was damning and irrefutable, even when the part about the theft of the music box was left out.

The deal was terminated, and Nora was headed back to prison. As she was being led out, Peter offered her some encouraging words, but they felt hollow and worthless as they came out of his lips. She tried her best to look like they helped.

All that was left to do was wait for his hearing in a week's time. Hughes believed that once Peter was returned to duty, there was a pretty good chance that they would be able to swing getting Nora back, given their record.

* * *

Peter felt like he'd been called to the principal's office as he sat at his hearing. Two men and a strict-looking woman sat across the table with him, drilling him with questions he felt like he'd answered a dozen times already. Microphones sat in front of each of them, recording the conversation.

"The jet exploded," Peter recounted when prompted to explain what happened.

"Nora Caffrey is a felon," the agent in the middle noted. "Will you explain the deal you had with her?" Of course, the man had all of that in his files already.

"She was serving the remainder of a four-year sentence under my supervision."

"She was wearing an electronic monitoring anklet with a two-mile range?" the man continued, referencing the papers in front of him.

"Yes."

"But she wasn't wearing it at the time the plane exploded?"

"No." The men covered their microphones and exchanged whispers. Peter glanced over his shoulder, noting a third man at the back of the room, taking notes. The whole thing was ridiculous, but Peter made sure he was on his best behavior. Things were already dicey. He didn't want to risk anything going wrong.

The man in the middle stood, pacing around the table. "Do you believe that Miss Caffrey was attempting to flee the country?"

"No," Peter said. "She cut a deal with the Office of Professional Responsibility. That allowed her-" The man held up a hand, cutting Peter off mid-sentence.

"Do you believe Miss Caffrey wanted to kill Kyle Moreau?"

"That's ridiculous," Peter huffed. "No."

"Do you believe someone wanted Caffrey dead?"

Peter scoffed, growing frustrated. He considered his response carefully for a moment. "Nora is a felon," he reminded the man. "She was convicted of bond forgery, and as you can see in those files, she was suspected of doing a hell of a lot of other things." He drew in a breath. "Yeah, Nora was a pain in the ass. So did somebody from that past want her dead? Maybe. But she also helped me clear a ninety-three percent conviction rate, and that makes enemies too."

"But I don't think any of this explains why the jet exploded," Peter continued. "You want an answer to that, ask Garrett Fowler."

"Fowler," the man repeated. "The OPR agent you shot."

"He was wearing a vest," Peter protested dryly. The man sat back down. "Talk to him."

"Right now, we're talking to you. Why don't we go back over the timeline again." Peter rolled his eyes and the questions went on. And on. And on. Peter felt like he was answering inane, pointless questions for an eternity.

Finally, he was dismissed. Diana, who had decided to transfer back to New York, waited outside for him. "Well?"

Peter dug his badge out of the paper bag they'd handed him. "I'm off suspension," he announced, "but hanging by a thread." They started walking. "What do you got?"

"Fowler was handed over to OPR two days ago," she reported, "then not a trace."

"They're hiding him somewhere. Did you get anything off his hard drive?"

"Good news and bad news," she sighed. "I hacked it, but the data self-corrupted."

"A self-eating virus," Peter huffed. "What's the good news?"

"I was able to recover one entry. A date, a time, and a place."

"So, you think Fowler set up a meeting?"

She nodded. "He's expecting something to happen at 12th and Watershed two months from now."

"Two months," Peter mused. "I should be there."

Diana smirked a little. "I'll put it on your calendar."

Peter returned her grin. "Glad to have you back."

He started off in the opposite direction. "Hey, where are you going?"

"To see an old friend," he said vaguely. He had some good news to deliver.

* * *

Peter had been standing in the visiting room for nearly twenty minutes before Nora was led through the barred door. Her orange jumpsuit was hanging halfway off, tied by the sleeves around her waist, showing off a white t-shirt underneath. Her hair was pulled back by what looked like a thin rubber band that would snap easily if someone tried to use it for anything besides tying back hair.

The guard patted her down quickly and walked her over to the table. She smiled up at Peter, but it was somewhat empty, and Peter guessed she was putting on a strong face for his sake… or, at least so he didn't bother her with pity.

"How're you holding up?" he asked.

"They don't let me wear high heels," she said lightly.

"Overrated."

"Food's as bad as I remember," she continued.

"Coffee?"

She scrunched up her nose. "Instant."

Peter scoffed. "Cruel and unusual," he joked.

She nodded slowly, looking him up and down. "New suit," she noted.

"Yeah," he chuckled, amazed she knew his wardrobe well enough to notice. He finally moved to sit down across from her.

"They give you your badge back?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "Justice finished its inquiry."

She fixed him with a hard look. "Then why am I still here?" Peter sighed. "What, do they think I blew up the plane?"

_Always so sharp_. "They don't know what to think," Peter dodged.

"What do they suspect?" she prodded.

"You were trying to escape."

"Escape?" she scoffed. She shook her head, laughing without humor.

"Fowler disappeared," Peter continued. "OPR is denying Mentor existed."

"I got paperwork that proves it did," she protested.

Peter nodded. "Yeah, and I've been reminded that you're one of the best forgers on the planet." She scowled, her brave facade starting to slip as she grew frustrated. "Listen, there's a chance I can reinstate our deal."

"Put the anklet back on?" There was a spark of hope in her eyes.

"They've got a new one," he added. "Not supposed to chafe as much."

"Wow," she mused, rolling her eyes, "that sounds like a great deal. From one prison to another."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Overstating that a little. I'll let you wear high heels."

"Coffee?" she asked, very seriously.

"Negotiable." She smiled a little. "One thing… If we do this again-"

"I have to know who killed Kyle," she said softly. Her eyes were blue steel.

"I'll find out," he assured her. "I'll tell you. That's how it works."

She bit her lip, considering it for a moment. "Can I get back to you?"

Peter couldn't believe his ears. A moment before, she was angry about being stuck in prison. Now, there she was, turning down his offer to get her out again. "You're looking at three and change," he reminded her. "You're only choice is to serve out your time with me or rot in this place."

She didn't answer, didn't meet his gaze. "I'm gonna have to interrupt this meeting, my friends," a familiar voice called. Peter looked up, incredulous, as the little guy crossed the room. He wore a cheap suit and carried a briefcase. "The defendant has requested the presence of her attorney."

Peter glanced back at Nora, who just shrugged lightly. _Is that why I was waiting so long?_ With a withering look, Peter stood. He paused as he passed the little guy. "Talk some sense into her."

"We'll take that under advisement, suit," Mozzie allowed. With that, Peter left. He knew she was still messed up from Kyle's death, but she couldn't seriously have been considering staying in prison, could she? He pushed away the thought that she and the little guy were planning an illegal option number three. _Do the right thing, Nora_.

* * *

Nora watched Peter go as Mozzie took his seat. She blinked slowly, chewing over his offer. "What sense am I talking into you?" Mozzie asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

"Peter offered me my old deal," she explained.

"The anklet?" She nodded. "Tempted?"

She shrugged. "I'm open to exploring my options."

"I can get you out of here, but it will cost." Mozzie opened his briefcase. "I'll deplete most of your reserves."

She brushed him away. "I can always get cash."

"What do you wanna do?"

That was the million dollar question. One she couldn't answer immediately. "I'll get back to you," she decided.

"Well, get back quickly," he sighed. "I don't think you want to stay in this place too much longer, either way."

* * *

Nora thought long and hard about it over the two weeks. On one hand, the urge to wash her hands of the whole thing, get out and be free at last pulled at her like a magnet. If she got out, she could track down Kyle's killer and… well, she didn't have a plan beyond that, but she was sure she would figure it out.

But, reinstating her deal with Peter put her in the position to have FBI resources to aid her search. Peter had promised he would help her find Kyle's killer, and if Peter wanted to find someone, he did. That also included her, if she chose to escape again. She really didn't want to put the score up to three-and-oh.

In the end, she made a phone call from the prison's phones to Peter's office. She'd spent a year working there, she knew his schedule well enough to know when he was likely to be in his office. "I was wondering when I was going to hear back from you," he joked when he answered.

"I had a lot to think about."

"And?"

"How soon do you think you can spring me?"

Peter chuckled. "Should you really be saying stuff like that? You know they monitor these calls, right?"

She rolled her eyes, despite the fact that he couldn't see it. "Yeah, and they also know perfectly well that you're an FBI agent. Context is key, Peter."

"Whatever you say."

"You haven't answered the question," she noted. "How soon can you get our deal reinstated."

He paused. "I already put in the paperwork," he admitted, and Nora could practically hear his sly grin. "It'll take some time, though. A few weeks, most likely."

Nora sighed under her breath. It was less than ideal, but better than nothing. "I guess it's a good thing patience is one of my strong suits."

Peter scoffed. "Right, because when I think of Nora Caffrey, patience is the first word that comes to mind."

"Ha ha."


	3. First Case Back

Chapter Three

First Case Back

Almost a month and a half passed before the paperwork went thought. Just like the first time, Nora signed a few papers – only, this time, Mozzie read over everything in excruciating detail – the Marshals strapped a sleek new anklet on her, and she was released into Peter's custody.

She had to admit, sliding into the passenger's seat of his Ford was kind of like coming home after a long day. She breathed in the scent of Peter's familiar pine air freshener, sinking back into the seat, still positioned exactly where she liked it. It was as if nothing had changed.

Except, of course, the fact that everything had changed.

Peter chatted about the goings-on since her arrest, and she happily let him do the talking. In the two and a half months she was back inside, Lauren had transferred to a different division, Diana had transferred back from DC, and Elizabeth's business was booming after her successful event at the Channing.

"So, how was prison?" Peter teased. "Make any new friends?"

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, yeah, tons."

"Good."

Peter drove as recklessly as always, and Nora was thankful his car had the assistive technology. They'd arrived back in the city, and Nora watched confused as Peter flew right past the road that would have taken them to June's fastest. "You missed your turn," she noted.

"No, I didn't."

She raised an eyebrow, taking note of the road they were on. "Why are we heading to your place?"

He grinned. "El insisted. She made lasagna."

"She didn't have to go through the trouble."

"She wanted to," he said simply with a light shrug.

"I hate to impose."

He laughed. "No, you don't." She didn't argue.

Soon enough, they pulled to a stop. Nora took in the welcoming sight of the Burke home. She followed Peter in and was immediately assaulted by an excited Satchmo, who jumped up on her demanding affection for not visiting him for so long. She was happy to oblige.

Once Satchmo was satisfied, Nora was greeted by Elizabeth, who hugged her warmly. "Welcome back!"

"Thank you." The scent of lasagna and garlic bread washed over her like a wave, and Nora drank it in greedily. It smelled like heaven, far better than the slop from the prison cafeteria. "Dinner smells fantastic."

Elizabeth beamed. Nora attempted to help with dinner, but was told in no uncertain terms she would do no such thing. She was given a lovely glass of wine and took a seat at the couch. She shifted in her seat, feeling uncomfortable about such a fuss being made about her, but El's chatter about how well her event had gone soon enough put Nora at ease.

It wasn't long before dinner was served and she joined the Burkes at the dinning room table. The food tasted as good as it smelled, and Nora wolfed it down, thankful that Elizabeth was such a wonderful cook.

The three chatted away like old times. "Oh, honey," Elizabeth said suddenly, eyes sparkling, "did you tell her about your new case?"

"Not yet," Peter admitted, quickly swallowing down a mouthful.

Nora cocked her head to the side, intrigued. "New case? Is that the real reason you wanted me out early?"

He chuckled. "Maybe, maybe not."

"So, what is it?"

He paused for a moment, taking a drink. "How do you feel about bank robbery?"

"Love it," she said brightly. Peter's gaze turned sour. She blinked, feigning innocence. "I mean… I don't love it…?" He rolled his eyes in exasperation. "I'm sorry, I'm confused. Am I supposed to be for or against bank robbery?"

"Against," he huffed, as if that was supposed to be obvious. "We're going after a guy who calls himself the Architect."

"Kinda pretentious," she mused.

"Yeah. He's hit banks in several major cities, sending a calling card ahead of time, and hitting a random branch each time."

"And one just showed up in New York," she guessed.

"Nothing gets past you." She rolled her eyes. "I think you're going to have fun with this one."

"I hope so, otherwise, what was the point in getting out of prison?"

* * *

Everything was going according to plan. Nora, dressed in a janitor's uniform, pushed a cleaning cart through the basement casually, acting like she belonged. She came to a stop in front of the pneumatic tubes, and with a glance over her shoulder to make sure she was alone, she pulled a piece of wire from her pocket and started cutting through the plastic.

It made a loud _pop_ as she yanked the wire through the last sliver. She grabbed the small capsule she's prepared off her cleaning cart. The name 'N. Halden' was printed on a sheet of paper inside. She sent it up the tube.

She grabbed a briefcase out from under the cleaning cart before abandoning it. It was easy enough to jump the hand rail that separated her from the elevator. Once the elevator door shut behind her, she pulled off the janitor overalls, revealing a gray blazer and slacks underneath. Kicking the overalls into a heap in the corner and adjusting her clothes to look perfectly in place, she rode the elevator up to an immaculate lobby.

The woman sitting at the reception desk was paying her no mind. "Hi, I'm Nat," Nora greeted as she approached. "Natalie Halden." The woman looked up at her blankly. "Today's my first day."

"We're not expecting any new employees," the woman said, skeptical.

Nora's brow furrowed. "I spoke to Brittany in HR," she lied. "She said my welcome badge and packet would be ready for me."

"Nobody told me about any of this." Nora shrugged lightly. "Hang on," the woman decided, standing. She searched around a desk briefly before checking the pneumatic tubes, pulling out the capsule Nora had sent up minutes before. Still confused, the woman pulled the envelope out, studying the employee card Nora had forged, proclaiming N. Halden an account manager.

The woman smiled sweetly. "I'm sorry about that. Welcome packet's right here." She offered Nora the envelope and the card.

"Alright." Nora glanced at the card. It was very good work, if she did say so herself. "Looks like me," she joked.

"Come on in, Nat," the woman said, heading for the locked gate behind her.

"Okay." The woman prompted her to scan her card. Of course, it didn't work, beeping obnoxiously. "Am I fired already?"

The woman laughed. "First day glitches."

"Gotcha."

"Here ya go," she said, scanning her own card. The door clinked open.

"Thank you." Nora focused on the woman's shoulder. "Oh, you got a little something… It's lint, right here." She reached over to pluck the lint away, and while the woman was distracted, Nora lifted her key card. "Got it. Some lint."

The woman smiled. If she was confused, she didn't show it. "I hope you like it here."

Nora grinned broadly. "Oh, so far, so good."

No one paid her any mind as she strolled toward the back. Using the woman's key card, Nora let herself through a second secured door, noting idly that her name was Pamela. _Sorry, Pam_. The door opened, and the bank's vault lay dead ahead.

This gate was secured by a key pad rather than a card reader. Nora entered the code quickly, having already committed it to memory. The door slid open, into the outer half of the vault, lined with safety deposit boxes. She ignored them. The door to the inner vault was secured with another key code.

Once that door opened before her, Nora stood face to face with a wall of cash. With a grin, she laid her briefcase on the table and got to work grabbing stacks of money. The dye packs were so easy to spot, it was like child's play. _At least challenge me_. She discarded the stacks with the dye unceremoniously on the table, filling the briefcase with the rest, as much as it would hold. She kept an eye on the door as she worked, but no one so much as passed by.

Once the case was full, she walked out, shutting the doors behind her. Pamela didn't so much as look up as Nora walked past her, out onto the sunny early spring streets of Manhattan.

She rounded the corner, walking with purpose, as if she hadn't just robbed a bank. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Peter and Jones waiting by the car. _I wonder how far he'll let me go…_

The answer was 'not very far.' She'd barely passed him before he called out to her. "I hope you're not planning on walking with that."

She stopped dead, looking over at him with innocent eyes. "No law against thinking about it." Peter didn't look too amused, though Jones got a good chuckle out of it. "Jones," she greeted as he stepped toward her.

"Nora." She handed over the case. He sat it on the hood of the car and popped it open. "Yeah, looks like it's all here."

Peter grinned. "Alright, let's go tell our branch managers their bank isn't secure."

"Let's do it," she agreed.

"It's good to have you back," Peter admitted.

Nora beamed. "It's good to be back."

She started walking. "Uh, Nora." _Damn it. Can't forget just one time, Peter_? When she turned around, he was holding her anklet up.

"Oh, yeah," she said, as if it had simply slipped her mind. She took it, glancing down at it with mixed feelings. "Welcome home."

She planted her foot up against the side of the car, earning a hiss from Peter. "Right on the car?"

"Come on, it's just a shoe." She clicked it in place and started walking. He started buffing the spot with his hand briefly before following after her.

"So," he said as they walked, "did you have fun?"

She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. "Why do I feel like I need my lawyer present before I answer that?" He rolled his eyes. She grinned. "Okay, yeah, it was pretty fun."

"Well, I hope you worked it all out of your system. We're both on pretty thin ice right now."

"Some things never change."


	4. Concern

Chapter Four

Concern

The five branch managers were gathered in the conference room. "Morning, gentlemen," he said as he, Nora, and a woman from the bank stepped into the room. They met him with curious faces as he spoke. He got right to business. "All Midtown Mutual Banks have similar layouts and use the same security system. Miss Renee Simmons-" He gestured to the bank executive who'd come in with him.

"Gentlemen," she greeted.

"-Who's in charge of all security for your branches requested that we conduct a test on that security," he continued.

"Would you please tell us why this is necessary?" one of the managers demanded.

"We found several flaws," Peter explained bluntly. He glanced back at Nora.

The managers shared skeptical looks as she took Peter's spot at the end of the table. "Hi," she greeted warmly, plopping the case down and opening it for them to see. "Mm-mm-mm," she tisked as they stared at the contents. "That's a lot of money." They shifted in their seats.

She launched into her explanation, entirely too smug. "Basement access let me bypass the metal detectors at the entrances. Teller cages are nicely protected, but your employees need to be more vigilant." The manager who'd spoken up before rolled his eyes, but Nora didn't seem deterred. "Staff should wear badges around their neck, not clipped to their waist. Makes them too easy to lift. The old dye packs you're using are way too easy to spot. And, guys, the passcodes need to change daily, not weekly."

She closed the case and slid it toward the middle of the table, very pleased with herself as she returned to her spot by the window. "Each of you have received a card like this in the past week," Peter said, returning to his spot and holding up an evidence bag, "from someone calling himself the Architect." Another agent passed out evidence bags with copies of the card out to all the managers. "We believe this is the same person who has hit banks in Dallas, Chicago, and Boston."

He tucked the evidence bag into his jacket pocket. "If he is operating under the same M.O. one of your vaults will be emptied within a week," Peter told them firmly. "That's why it's necessary. So, let's strategize."

They talked in length about how their security measures could be updated to prevent the Architect's plan. Once an agreement was reached, Peter dismissed the meeting. Nora and Renee followed him back into his office.

"That went great," Nora said brightly.

"I'm sure they'll sleep soundly tonight," Peter joked.

Renee spun to face them. "So… what do I tell them when they start to panic?"

Peter considered it for a second. "Tell them that we're shoring up their security and that the Bureau is on it," he decided.

Renee didn't look convinced. "Did that help in Dallas, Chicago, and Boston?"

"This is New York," Peter said flatly, dropping a file on the table. "We'll catch him."

"I hope so," Renee mused, smiling tightly before she turned to leave with the rest of the branch managers.

"'We'll catch him,'" Nora mocked, faking a truly awful deep voice. Peter glared at her. "That's your halftime speech?"

"You could have said something," Peter shot back.

She paced around the desk, a far-away look on her face. "This guy is _amazing_, alright?" she gushed. "Dallas was good, Chicago was a work of art." She stared down over the bullpen.

Peter rolled his eyes. Every time there was an impressive crime, she practically swooned. "Boston?" he asked, curious.

"I still don't know how he hit Boston," she admitted, glancing over her shoulder.

"Really?" She shrugged. "Well, we better figure out how, because I do not want to add Manhattan to that list." Nora didn't respond, back to staring blankly ahead. He could just make out her reflection in the glass. Her admiring smile was gone. "You holding up?" he asked softly.

For a second, it seemed like she didn't hear him. Then she seemed to shake back into the present. "Yeah," she said lightly, spinning around to face him. "Yeah. I'm holding up."

Peter didn't buy it. "You sure?"

"Yeah." She scoffed a little, as if he was bothering her with his concern. "I'm gonna..." She pointed a thumb over her shoulder. Uncomfortable, she was resorting to her old habit; running away.

"Mm-hmm." She left without another word, returning to her desk to do whatever work it was she did. With a sigh, he sank down into his chair to try and get through some of his own work done. He couldn't help but glance down at her periodically.

She seemed to be drawing in a sketch book, though Peter couldn't tell what she was drawing from so far away. As he watched, he saw her suddenly drop her pencil, holding her hand in front of her for a moment before clutching it tightly with the other. She stared blankly ahead again. Then she jerked, snapping out of whatever thoughts she'd fallen into, snatched up her pencil, and returned to her drawing.

Peter sighed heavily. It was obvious that she wasn't doing well, no matter what she tried to convince him. But he just couldn't think of any way to help. Emotional stuff wasn't his forte, after all. She'd come out of prison acting like nothing was wrong, but he knew she couldn't keep up the act forever… or, even if she could, it wouldn't be healthy.

Peter sent a quick text message before heading down to the bullpen. She didn't look up at him, focused on her drawing, which Peter realized was a recreation of the Architect card. "Hey," he said. She jerked a little, not having noticed Peter walk up to her desk, something very unusual for her. "I'm heading out to lunch."

"Oh, I'm gonna pass," she said lightly, despite the fact Peter hadn't asked her if she wanted to come. He already knew she would; since her first night out of prison, where she ate El's lasagna like it was going out of style, she'd barely eaten much at all. At least not around Peter.

"Okay," he agreed. "Let me know if you want me to pick something up." She nodded.

Peter got a text while riding the elevator down and made his way to the park where they had agreed to meet. It was a sunny spring day, the air cool, but not overly frigid. He bought a newspaper, as requested and made his way to a bench. Several arrows had been drawn on the path in chalk, pointing him to his destination.

Peter scoffed at the absurdity of it all, but took a seat over several Xs, making a big show that he was doing as he had been asked. His eyes scanned over the crowd, but he couldn't see a familiar face. Rolling his eyes, Peter tapped the newspaper twice on the arm of the bench.

His cellphone started to ring. "Where are you?" Peter demanded.

"We had an agreed-upon protocol," the person on the other end said, voice altered to a mechanical rumble.

"Are you using a voice changer?"

He ignored Peter's question. "You sit on the bench, open the Times to the international section. That's what we agreed on."

"You're using a voice changer," Peter said, incredulous. He hung up the phone and quickly redialed the number. "Unbelievable."

Peter scanned the crowd once more, listening for the ringing phone. He saw the little guy behind a tree to his left, fumbling to get the voice changer situated as he answered the call. "I don't see a newspaper open."

Peter stood, craning his neck to see the little guy better behind the low branches. "Get over here," he snapped. Slowly, Mozzie came out of his hiding spot, hopping over the low fence meant to keep people out of the grass. He took a seat on the bench behind Peter, sitting back-to-back with the agent. Peter rolled his eyes, turning in his seat to look at him.

"It's your dime, suit."

Ignoring his frustration, Peter straightened back in his seat. "How's Nora doing?" he asked, getting straight to the point. He knew he wasn't going to get any answers from her – or any honest ones, anyway – but he hoped the little guy cared enough about her to help Peter out.

"You spend just as much time with her as I do," Mozzie huffed.

"I need her. I am counting on her. A lot of people are counting on her," he amended quickly. "And I don't need her going Section Eight on me."

Mozzie hesitated. "She's not exactly forthcoming," he sighed. That surprised Peter. He's assumed she was more open with Mozzie, but apparently he was wrong. "Kyle's only been dead two months. No one can snap back that fast."

Peter spun around. "Are you telling me the two of you aren't looking into what happened at that airport?"

Mozzie spun to face him. "The question was 'how's she doing?' Not 'what is she doing?'"

"Alright, then what do you think?" Peter asked, exasperated. For as frustrating as it was getting straight answers out of Nora sometimes, Mozzie was far worse.

"Quid pro quo."

Peter sighed. "Alright. She's got the shakes. She's flashing back to that moment in her mind and she's freaking out about it. Your turn."

Mozzie was silent for a moment. "As you may imagine, she's a little curious as to who may have killed Kyle."

"Does she think whoever killed him was trying to kill her?"

"It's crossed her mind," Mozzie allowed.

Peter sighed. It seemed that neither of them had much idea how she was really doing or what they could do to help her. "Alright. I'll keep looking into things on my side. Until you hear from me, let's keep her busy. We've got a good case now, so let's keep her working on that."

"How do _I_ do that?"

Peter shrugged. "You're her friend. You'll figure it out." With that, they both stood and headed in their different directions.


	5. Golf

Chapter Five

Golf

The paperwork had finally gone through, meaning Nora was free to return home. She wasted no time gathering her sparse belongings from the gross motel room and making her way back to June's lovely home. The woman was ecstatic to see her, hugging her warmly and walking her upstairs.

Nora took in her familiar apartment. Nothing had been moved a hair, and it seems June had made sure it was dusted and cleaned during Nora's two-month absence.

"I kept everything as you left it," June assured her. Nora continued to look around, smiling a little to herself. Her eyes locked on Mozzie, sitting on a chair by the TV.

"Exactly as I left it, I see," she joked.

"Oh, welcome back," Moz said lightly, as if just noticed she and June had arrived.

"I couldn't bear the thought of you in that awful motel. Besides, you can't imagine how quiet it is around here without you," June sighed. Nora managed a small laugh. "I like a little excitement now and then."

"Me too." Nora hugged her once more. "Thank you, June."

"Of course," she dismissed before turning to leave.

Nora closed the door after her before turning to Mozzie. "Let's see it."

They rushed toward the table. "There's a lot."

"I know." They started pulling files out of a box sitting in one of the chairs. Then began the arduous process of reading over them all, accompanied by a few glasses of wine while they worked. Darkness had fallen by the time they finished, and all the effort brought them was a whole lot of nothing. "This is everything?" she sighed.

"Yeah. Everything on your search for Kyle, Fowler, Mentor..."

"You heard from Alex?" she asked suddenly.

"No. Since the… explosion, she's been laying low. Can't blame her." He seemed to rush over the words, uncomfortable.

"She'll surface." Nora looked down at a photo in front of her. "What about the music box?" she asked, tapping the picture.

"According to the evidence log, the new lady suit-"

"That would be Diana."

"Diana logged it into evidence in your New York office after Peter recovered it from Fowler."

"I wanna see if it's still there," she decided. Mozzie looked down, not wanting to meet her eyes. "Whoever blew up the plane wants that box. They're not gonna let it sit around in an evidence locker collecting dust." He glanced up at her, seemingly not as certain as she was. She sighed in annoyance. "We find the person who wants the box, we find who killed Kyle."

Mozzie pursed his lips, and Nora realized he was trying to find an argument. Frustrated, she pushed away from the table and paced away. She sighed heavily, running her hands through her hair as she stepped out onto the balcony. Peter had insisted she let him handle looking for Kyle's killer, and it seemed that Mozzie was thinking along the same lines. How could neither of them understand how she felt? Her need to find the answers, not just wait around for someone else to do it for her.

"The Architect," Mozzie said softly. "That's an excellent sobriquet. Is this your first case back?"

"Yeah," she huffed.

"I need a new nickname," Mozzie decided.

She rolled her eyes. "Mozzie's not cutting it anymore?"

"What about… the Question?" he tried. "Or, perhaps, the Skeptic?" She shook her head, but smiled a little despite herself. "Conman!" She turned toward him, amused by his sudden enthusiasm. "The Architect, he's a bank robber?"

"A good one," she allowed. "Since when are you concerned with FBI cases?"

"Uh, since you started spiraling into the dark place." She swallowed hard, smile fading. _Overstating it a bit, I think… Is it really that noticeable?_ "And as you may remember, I have colluded on a bank heist or two in my day." She smiled again, raising her hands in mock surrender. "Come on. What do we got?"

"Alright," she sighed, returning to the table and pulling open the file she'd brought home from the bureau. "Three clean jobs in five years. No trail. No evidence. All we have are these business cards."

Mozzie looked over the card. "Embossed," he mused. "Very classy." She hummed in agreement. "What do you make of the A? I don't recognize the typeface."

"Forensics doesn't either," she admitted.

"Custom font. That speaks to a high degree of hubris."

"Mm-hmm. What do you think?" He didn't answer immediately. "The elongated slant," she continued, "it could be a Cyrillic influence."

"A little Russian," Mozzie joked in a terrible Russian accent. "Hmm."

"If you left a calling card, how would you sign it?" she asked.

"I could never leave a _card_," he scoffed. "It's way to brazen. Would you?" She raised her eyebrow, smirking just a little. "Of course you would. The better question is, if you were him, what card would you leave?"

Somehow, that was simultaneously nothing to go on and everything she needed.

* * *

When Peter got to the office the next morning, he found Nora not at her desk. Jones pointed him upstairs. She had claimed the conference room table and spread out with what looked various art books and their Architect files, hard at work combing through pages of her books.

"Morning," he greeted.

"Found something on the card," she announced.

He glanced down at the books, brow furrowed. "I'll take Obscure Russian Painters for a thousand."

She grinned. "The A has a definite Cyrillic influence."

"Well, our tech guys already cracked that one," he reminded her. "If the Architect is a mad Russian, that doesn't narrow down our list of possibles."

"Not a Russian," she corrected, "but a fan of Russian painting." She plopped one of her art books down in front of him. "Ivan Aivazovsky. Look at his signature." She held up a plastic sheet with Aivazovsky's signature and a blown-up image of the Architect calling card against each other. The As lined up exactly.

"Oh, look at that," he mused as he sat down, taking the pictures from her.

"Got it," Diana announced, rushing into the room with a paper held triumphantly in her hand. She beamed down at them.

Peter leaned back in his chair. "Look at you two, working together. Look at that teamwork."

Diana sat the paper down in front of him. "We dug up every auction in the last two years to see who's been bidding on Aivazovskys," she explained.

"Excellent." Peter flipped through the pages. "That's a pretty thick list. What if we cross-reference people with a business connection to Dallas, Chicago-"

"Right here," Diana said, handing him another sheet.

"Oh." Of course they'd already thought of that.

"Yeah, the list gets shorter."

"One name," Peter mused. Out of the corner of his eye, Peter saw Nora and Diana bump fists. _Well, good to see them getting along_, he thought. Lauren had never really warmed up all that much to Nora, a problem Diana didn't seem to have. "Edward Walker. Let's go have a visit."

"Let's do it," Nora agreed.

"Good work." He held out his fist expectantly. Nora just stared, holding back a smirk. "Good work."

* * *

Peter chatted away in the car, though Nora zoned out as she stared out the window, and barely paid attention to what he was saying. He didn't seem to mind, taking her idle 'mm-hmms' and 'yeahs' as all the encouragement he needed to keep babbling away. She understood why he was doing it, trying to keep her mind busy, but she found it more tedious than anything.

Between him and Mozzie, she found she barely had time to be alone. Peter spent all day at work watching her and filling any silence that got too long with idle chatter. In the evenings, Mozzie did practically the same thing. Of course, they were trying to keep her from dwelling on what had happened, but sometimes, a girl just wanted to be alone.

Peter parked a few blocks away, and from there, they walked. Once at the address of Edward Walker, they were shown into his penthouse by a personal assistant. She led them to a balcony overlooking the Hudson. "Mr. Walker," the assistant called, "you have two visitors from the FBI."

Walker didn't look up. He was too busy placing a golf ball on a tee. "Well, if you're here to give me a ticket for hitting golf balls into the Hudson River, I'll have to write you a check. Whitney, get my checkbook, would you?"

"The bureau doesn't give tickets," Peter corrected.

"Well, in that case, Whitney, get my golf permit, will you?" Whitney nodded and headed back inside. They watched as Walker hit a ball out over the balcony.

Peter held up his badge, even though Walker wasn't looking. "I'm Special Agent Peter Burke. This is my consultant, Nora Caffrey."

It was at that point, he finally turned to face them. His eyes fell on Nora. "What do you consult on, Miss Caffrey?"

She shrugged lightly, smiling pleasantly up at him. "Investigations that involve my areas of expertise," she explained vaguely.

"What areas are those?"

"It's a long list," Peter huffed. Nora stepped forward, looking out over the water.

"Care to try a swing?" Walker asked, offering her the golf club.

"Oh, no thank you. Golf's not really my game."

"Oh, come now," he scoffed. "I'm sure it's not every day a young lady like you gets the chance to hit a golf ball off the top of the world." He flashed a quick wink.

She glanced back at Peter, rolling her eyes dramatically once Walker was no longer able to see her face. He shrugged. Flashing a fake smile up at Walker, she shrugged out of her blazer and passed it off to Peter. The early spring air was cool on her bare arms. Peter huffed in indignation at his demotion to coat holder.

She accepted the golf club and took Walker's place on his fake grass platform. While she lined up her shot, she heard Peter start speaking to Walker. "You recognize this?"

"Oh, I'm not an architect," Walker dismissed.

"No, you're just a hedge fund manager with too much time on his hands," Peter allowed.

"Well, having a hobby is not illegal, is it?" Walker joked.

"Depends on the hobby."

Walker cocked his head. "Is there something specific I can help you with, Agent Burke?"

Nora, still focused on the golf ball, spoke up before Peter could. "Contemporary Russian art. Got any Aivazovskys?"

"Three," Walker said curtly. "You thinking about stealing one?" She froze for a second. "It's that device on your ankle." She glanced over her shoulder at him, not letting him get under her skin. "Ooh, you must have been some kind of criminal for the FBI to wanna keep you so close."

"I was," she admitted with a small shrug. Finally, she swung at the ball. It flew out a fair distance, curving off to the right as it went.

"Ooh, you sliced that one over into the Chelsea Pier. You know, my permit doesn't cover that." She handed his club back. Peter pressed her jacket back into her hands.

"I understand you have offices in Dallas, Chicago, and Boston," Peter said, returning the conversation to the matter at hand.

"I have offices in most major cities around the world."

"Could you tell me where you were on April 19th of last year?"

"Off the top of my head?" he laughed. "I have no idea. But my assistant could look it up for me." He shot a glance over to his assistant, who had just returned with his golf permit. She handed him a cellphone. "Whitney keeps my calendar. Uh, April 19th?" He typed into the phone quickly.

"Oh, well of course," he said, finding what he was looking for. "I know exactly where I was. And I would be happy to tell you, providing you can get a warrant based on some bizarre connection you've made between me, an anonymous business card, and random questions about Russian art." Peter pursed his lips. "Now, if you'll excuse me." He handed the phone back to Whitney. "I have too much time on my hands. Whitney can show you out."

They followed Whitney back toward the door. "Oh," Walker called, settled back on his putting podium, "and Miss Caffrey." She paused. "A suggestion for the next time you commit a crime." He glanced over his shoulder at her. "Don't get caught." She smiled tightly. "And, on your backswing, just keep it smooth." He punctuated his words by sending another golf ball sailing out over the river.


	6. A Bite to Eat

Chapter Six

A Bite to Eat

Nora was scowling as they made their way back toward the car. "Did Walker get to you?" Peter asked, somewhat amused.

"Nope," she huffed, schooling her face into a calm, confidant mask. "But I hope he did it. Be fun to arrest him." She scoffed. "Don't get caught."

"He got to you. Don't do anything stupid."

"I won't." Somehow, Peter wasn't convinced.

"Don't tell me it's not in the realm of possibility," Peter warned. "We are under a ton of scrutiny here." She raised an eyebrow. "Both of us."

"Got it." Peter didn't believe her for a second, but he decided to let it go. Sometimes, he decided, he needed to pick his battles.

"So why would somebody like him do it?" he asked, changing gears a little. "He doesn't need the money."

She rolled her eyes, looking at Peter pointedly. "The guy's chipping golf balls off skyscrapers," she reminded him bitterly. "You said it. He's bored."

"So, he's gonna risk prison for an adrenaline rush?"

"Yup."

"Huh." He wondered what that said about her. "Listen, I'm gonna head back to the office, and grab a late bite with El. We're done for the day."

Nora smiled. "Tell Elizabeth I say 'hi.'"

"Nora," he said firmly, "nothing stupid."

"Nothing stupid," she agreed, still smiling pleasantly. Peter nodded as she continued walking, not reassured in the least.

Peter still felt uneasy back at the office, but he tried to put it out of his mind. Before heading out, he called Jones into his office to go over a few last things for the day. "Talk to the FAA," he instructed. "We need flight records, commercial and private. I wanna know if Walker was in Dallas, Chicago, or Boston on the dates of those robberies."

"Done," Jones assured him, taking notes in a small notepad. "I'll run credit cards and phone records as well. Maybe get him making a call or place him at a hotel."

Over Jones' shoulder, Peter caught sight of Diana as she tried to get his attention. "Thanks, Jones. Let me know what you find," Peter said quickly. Jones took that as his cue to leave and Diana took his place, shutting the door behind her.

"Check your calendar," she said, handing him some papers and taking a seat.

Peter sighed. He'd been checking it religiously. "Fowler's mystery meeting is in three days." He flipped through the papers. "These are the locations?"

"Very little foot traffic," she explained, "no cameras, several alley exit points. I see why Fowler picked it."

"I'm gonna be there."

"We both should be," she corrected. He smiled. It was nice having someone so loyal on his side. Not to say the rest of the team wasn't loyal. But the less everyone else knew about Fowler and the box, the better it was. The last thing they needed was for Nora to find out… He didn't want to think about what that would do to her mental state.

"Thanks, Diana." Peter stood, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Bye, boss."

* * *

Mozzie had followed Whitney to a small restaurant, thankfully within Nora's radius. She sat alone at at table with a glass of wine, reading something Nora couldn't make out from so far away. Peter had warned her not to do anything stupid… though, she would hardly call her plan stupid. _Peter won't see it that way_.

She brushed that thought away. _Peter will just have to deal with it_. Nora walked casually, passing behind Whitney's chair and bumping into it. "Ooh!" Whitney cried as she was jolted forward.

"Oh, sorry! These tables are so close-"

"Hey!" Recognition lit up Whitney's face.

"Whitney."

"Miss Caffrey?"

Nora rolled her eyes a little, playfully. "Please, we're off the clock. It's Nora."

"Okay."

"That's what I love about New York," Nora mused. "Small world."

"Yeah!" Whitney agreed. "Please, sit down." She moved her purse out of the chair closest to Nora, hanging it on the back of her chair. "Join me?"

"You sure?"

"Yeah, please, sit down." With a smile, Nora took a seat.

She glanced down at the book Whitney was reading. It was a travel guide of some sort. "Cape Cod?" Nora read. "Finally, someone who's over the Hamptons."

"I know," Whitney agreed. "I always felt like I was in a Fitzgerald novel." Nora nodded in agreement. "Maybe it's because I'm not from New York."

"Kindred ex-patriot," Nora mused.

"You don't say. Where are you from?"

"Grew up in St. Louis," Nora admitted. "You?"

"Oh, you've never heard of it," Whitney dismissed, "just a small town about an hour outside of Indianapolis." They sat and chatted like that, talking about their respective home towns and travel destinations they liked or disliked.

"So, you actually prefer Nantucket to Martha's Vineyard?" Whitney asked, excited. She was entirely too easy to read, a very open, very simple book.

"Yeah, it's a sentimental thing." Out of the corner of her eye, Nora saw Mozzie and made her move.

"Let's go international," Whitney decided. With her attention caught between Nora and the travel book, Nora slipped her hand in Whitney's purse and lifted her cell.

"Oh, Maldives, hands down." Mozzie palmed the phone as he passed by, leaving Whitney none the wiser. "Those turquoise waters were breathtaking… I never wanted to leave." She started counting in her head.

"Mine's the Seychelles. You know the sands are actually pink?"

Nora feigned ignorance. "No way."

"Yeah, it's actually pink."

"Wow..." Nora grabbed her wine, taking the last sip. Mozzie had just about enough time. "I'm gonna get another drink, and when I come back, European cities. And you are _not_ allowed to say Barcelona."

"Ooh," Whitney mused, enjoying the challenge.

Nora took a spot at the bar and Mozzie slid up next to her. The bartender got Nora another glass of wine.

"Copied her SIM card," Mozzie muttered, casually passing her the cellphone. She palmed it and tucked it into her pocket in a single, fluid motion. "Having fun making friends?"

She laughed. "It is what I do best." Nora grabbed the glass and headed back to the table.

"You know," Whitney said, "I've gotta show you these photos from Morocco. They're in my phone… which is in my giant handbag somewhere." Nora's stomach dropped, but she kept her calm expression in place as Whitney started digging through her bag.

"Maybe it's on the table," Nora tried. "I'm always leaving my stuff, like right in front of me."

"Could be." In the split second that Whitney turned her attention away from her bag, Nora unceremoniously dropped the phone in. "No. No, it's in here…. Here it is." She pressed some buttons and brought up some rather poorly taken photos of Morocco. They chatted a bit more.

"You know, this is nice," Nora mused, leaning back in her seat. "I haven't had the chance to just get out and talk to people in so long."

Whitney looked at her, bemused. "Yeah? Why's that?"

"Oh..." Nora smiled sheepishly, twirling her hair around a finger. "Well, actually, I just got out of prison."

Whitney's face fell, and she scooted a little away unconsciously. "Prison?"

"Yeah. Spent four years inside." She pulled her leg up onto her chair and showed Whitney her anklet. It was sleeker than her old one, one solid piece of black plastic. Rather than having to snip the band any time it came off, it had a key. And, as Peter had said while she was back in prison, it _did _chafe less, so that was a plus.

"Is that a… tracking anklet?"

Nora shrugged lightly. "Electronic monitoring anklet, actually. It's a funny story, though." Whitney's eyes were a little wide. "A couple years ago, the feds came after me for everything from art theft to counterfeiting." Whitney nodded slowly. "The only thing they got me on was bond forgery," Nora added quickly.

Whitney let out a nervous laugh. "I thought you worked for the FBI."

"Oh, yeah," Nora said earnestly. "Yeah, with Peter. He caught me. Both times."

"I see..."

Nora's face fell. "I made you uncomfortable."

Whitney seemed at a loss for words, opening and closing her mouth several times before deciding what to say. "I should really go."

"Oh, okay… I understand." Whitney quickly scooped up her things and started for the door. "Have a good one."

Mozzie came up behind her once Whitney was gone. "Nora Caffrey on paper," he mused, "not so great."

She shrugged. "It's a lot to process."

"Well, at least we got Walker's calendar." He placed the burner he'd copied Whitney's SIM card to in front of her.

"Anything?" she asked, already looking through the phone.

"On the days of the previous bank heists, his itinerary is highlighted in green. Usually, it's blue."

She smirked. "Green for money."

"Oh, really," Mozzie said dryly. "The symbolism had escaped me." She rolled her eyes. "Look at tomorrow."

"He's got a meeting at First Unity Bank at noon," she read. "Marked in green." She turned to Mozzie, grinning. "I think we got him."

* * *

"You know," Peter mused, "this is nice."

"It is nice," El agreed. They glanced around the open air cafe, taking in the scenery.

"Live here, you forget what's right in front of you."

"Yeah." El unfolded her napkin, draping it in her lap. "How's Nora doing?"

Peter hesitated. "Great." He sighed. "As far as she says."

El nodded. "She's putting up a facade, huh?" Peter raised an eyebrow. "Of course she is," she amended. "It's her natural state."

"Problem is, I don't know how bad it is," he admitted.

"What do you think?"

He considered it. It was really hard to pin down with her. "I think she went through one hell of a trauma," he decided. "I also think, if she was ready for a straitjacket, she'd be grinning and saying, 'Peter, you have to trust me.'"

El took a sip of her water. "Well, it's gonna take her some time to become herself again." El was silent for a moment. "Does she know?"

Peter hesitated. "Not how bad it is. Well, she knows that we're under… _enhanced_ scrutiny by the bureau," he allowed. "What she _doesn't _know is if we drop a case, I'm collecting unemployment and she's using pictures of Macaulay Culkin for money." It had taken just about every bit of pull Peter had to get her deal reinstated. One wrong turn and it was both their asses.

El made a sympathetic pouty face, rubbing his arm reassuringly while trying not to laugh. Peter's thoughts strayed back to the day of the incident. "There was this moment," he muttered, "right before the plane exploded. Nora was walking away from me. She stopped… and she turned around, and she was about to say something. I think she was crying. Then..." He pantomimed an explosion.

El's brow furrowed. "What do you think she was gonna say?"

"I don't know," he dismissed.

She crossed her arms, staring at him intently. "Do you think she was gonna stay?"

Part of him wanted to believe it. "And leave Kyle?" he scoffed. "I don't know. Doesn't matter."

"Well, I think it matters."

"Why? It's kind of a moot point now." She was there, Kyle was dead, and there was nothing anyone could do to change that. What use did dwelling on it serve?

"It matters to you," El insisted. Peter sighed. Of course, she was right.


	7. The Strike of Noon

Chapter Seven

The Strike of Noon

Peter was less than thrilled when Nora stopped by his house later that evening to show him what she'd learned. She lingered in the doorway while Peter glared at her from the bottom of the stairs. "You _happened_ to run into her and then she invited you for a drink?" he repeated skeptically.

Nora shrugged, grinning broadly. "You gotta love New York." She welcomed herself in.

"Yeah, and then she handed you a copy of her SIM card."

She took a seat on the couch. "I'm a confidential informant, right? If someone found this information on the street and brought it to you, you wouldn't blink." He sank into the chair across from her, rubbing his temples.

"I told you, nothing stupid," he sighed.

Nora ignored him. "Word on the street is that Walker's gonna hit the First Unity branch tomorrow at noon."

Peter sucked in a breath, leaning forward toward her. "You're sure about this?"

"Oh, yeah."

Peter sent her home after that. When she got back, she was surprised and relieved to see that Mozzie wasn't hanging around waiting for her. She poured herself a glass of wine and sank down onto the couch with a sigh of relish.

Ever since the incident, it seemed like she was never able to be alone. First, in prison, where one was never truly alone. Even in the week after her release, Mozzie and Peter spent as much time around her as humanly possible. June came up to see her periodically, and El called to check on her. At the office, Jones and Diana stopped by her desk at regular intervals just to chat. No one wanted her alone with her thoughts very long.

She understood that, and appreciated it to a degree, but it was frustrating.

She sipped slowly on her wine. Soon enough, her thoughts turned to the thing everyone was trying so hard to keep her from thinking of. Kyle. The explosion played through her mind over and over like a film. Sometimes, it played in slow motion, everything moving excruciatingly slowly. Others, it seemed to take only the time from one heartbeat to the next.

She remembered screaming herself hoarse, beating her elbows against Peter's chest in a futile attempt to escape his grasp. She remembered realizing there was nothing she could do, that Kyle had been ripped violently from her, and that his murderer still walked free somewhere. She remembered crying until no more tears would come, clinging tightly to Peter.

There was a crash, a light tinkling of shattered glass, and she was snapped out of her thoughts. Her wine glass had slipped from her grasp. Her hands still trembled, and her cheeks were wet with tears.

* * *

The next morning, Peter pulled the team, along with Renee into the municipal utilities surveillance van. It smelled just as bad as she remembered. "We've got everybody in position," Peter announced.

"What makes you sure this bank is the target?" Renee asked, skeptical.

"Word on the street," Peter said vaguely. Nora smiled slightly to herself.

"I don't understand," Renee huffed. "Why don't you think this bank is secure?"

"Well, they haven't had time to install half the security measures we recommended," Nora explained.

Renee's eyes narrowed some in confusion. "You've been inside."

Nora shrugged. "I'm very thorough."

Not seeming to reassured by this, Renee returned her attention to Peter. "Well, we've reset the vault doors in all of our locations to change daily. There's no way they're getting in there without the access codes."

That was a good point, and based on his face, Nora guessed Peter was thinking the same thing. Jones, however, spoke up. "These guys have bravado and then some. Dallas was hit at nine AM, Chicago at the lunch hour."

Renee's eyes locked on the screen displaying security feed from the bank, and Peter noticed the look on her face. "What?" he asked.

"The northwest guard takes lunch at noon."

"That's their point of entry," Peter realized.

Someone from the team inside the bank started speaking over the his mic. Peter listened intently for a moment. "What do we got, people?" he huffed.

"The sound-activated alarm has been triggered," the guy on the mic reported. "I got no visual. Accessing vault."

They watched the screen as men dressed in tactical gear hurried through the bank toward the vault. "Do you see anyone?" Peter demanded.

"Nobody down here."

Renee was watching intently. "They could have disabled the motion detectors," she offered, "bypassed those cameras."

"All units go," a man in tactical gear who stood next to Jones at the front of the van demanded into his mic. "Someone find out what triggered that alarm."

"We're moving in," the other man said over the mic, and a swarm of agents rushed in. "Move it, move it…. We got something inside the vault." They all waited with bated breath. "You're not gonna believe this. Meet me outside."

Peter stood. "Jones, take the monitor," he barked, already making his way out of the van with Nora and Renee in tow. They met the other agent outside the bank. "What's going on?"

"This another one of your bank tests?" the agent accused.

"What do you mean?"

The agent handed Peter an alarm clock. "That was inside a safety deposit box."

Nora's mouth went dry, and she exchanged a look with Peter. "Whose name was on the box?" she asked, already having a pretty good idea what the answer was going to be.

"Peter Burke." Peter hissed out a sigh. "Someone's messing with you, Burke. In the future, don't waste my time. Don't waste my men's time." The agent stalked away.

"Well, well, well," a man's voice called over the commotion. They turned to see Walker sauntering toward them with two men in nice suits behind him. "If it isn't Agent Burke, and his personal criminal consultant."

"What a coincidence," Nora said dryly.

"Odd seeing you here, Walker."

"Why is that?" he asked, "I have a meeting right across the street at the Nix Towers. I guess we missed all the excitement." He glanced between them, spying the clock in Peter's hand, ticking away softly. "Nice clock." He turned toward the men behind him. "Gentlemen." With an arrogant smile, Walker and the men crossed the street and were gone.

Nora's shoulder's slumped. "He played me, Peter."

"Yeah." He sighed, staring down at the clock. "Now we've got problems."

* * *

Nora paced impatiently in the bullpen, staring up at the conference room where Peter stood in front of a group of bureau bigwigs. No sooner had they stepped off the elevator, than Peter was pulled away by Hughes to discuss the bank fiasco.

Nora wasn't the best at lipreading, but she gathered from his body language that the conversation was getting quite heated. A knot formed in her stomach. He had asked her not to do something stupid, and she turned right around and did just that, walking right into Walker's trap.

As she watched, Diana came to a stop next to her. "They've been in there for almost an hour," Nora told her in a hushed tone.

"Yeah."

"You think we'll lose the case?"

She sighed, turning to face Nora with a grim expression. "With the Department of Justice, we'll be lucky if that's all that happens."

"Come on," Nora huffed. "We were set up. They know that."

"Yeah, and they think Peter should've known that. This is the FBI, Nora. We don't act unless we're sure." Nora swallowed hard. "Peter trusted your lead." With that, Diana returned to her desk.

Nora turned back toward the conference room. Peter, now looking somewhat resigned, caught her eye. His face was a stone mask.

* * *

The conference room cleared out after the bigwigs said their piece. Peter watched them go. Nora had returned to her desk after watching from the bullpen for an hour. She didn't immediately rush up to his office, which was surprising. Instead, he watched out of the corner of his eye as she glanced up at him, shifting in her seat. He let her sit and stew while he slowly gathered his things.

She didn't say anything as he passed her desk, motioning for her to follow. She sat quietly in the car, sneaking glances as he stared blankly out the windshield, eyes fixed steadfast on the road. Once back at his home, she took a seat at the table while he disappeared into the kitchen.

Finally, as he returned and placed a bottle of beer in front of her, she spoke. "So, today was a bit of a setback," she admitted, trying to keep her tone light.

"You think?" he huffed, pacing next to the table. "Took me a while to wipe the egg off my face."

"We can catch this guy," she insisted.

"This guy is no longer our investigation." He paced into the living room. "This is bad."

She was silent for a moment, choosing her words carefully. "There's something you should know." He took a swig of his beer, waiting for her to continue. "When we were at the hanger that day..." That was not what he was expecting to come out of her mouth. "Before everything happened, I was gonna tell you something."

He walked slowly toward her. "What?"

She stared down for a while, eyes a million miles away. "I didn't want to run anymore," she admitted. He stared at her. Her wide blue eyes were sincere. "If I had gotten on that plane, regardless of whatever deal was made, it wouldn't have felt like freedom."

"Why?"

"Because it was an escape. You're right, Peter. I have a life here." So, maybe everything he said didn't just go in one ear and out the other. "If there was something you could've done to protect Kyle, I know you would have."

"I would've," he insisted.

"The same way I know you can get Walker." There it was, the reason she felt the need to tell him all of that at that specific moment. He laughed, and a small grin spread across her lips as well.

"It's not fun being tweaked by the bad guy, is it?" he joked. One of her favorite things to do when she was on the run was taunt and tease him, cocky and arrogant.

"Especially when you see him make one of your friends look like an idiot," she jabbed back.

"What?"

"Not that you-" she muttered quickly. "You didn't look-"

He smirked. "A little bit," he allowed.

"You kind of… yeah."

Peter pulled out the chair across from her and took a seat. "Alright, let's start from the top," he decided. "Why would he send a card to warn the bank?"

"To challenge us?" she guessed.

"For what purpose?"

Her eyes glittered, and she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "To see if we're on his level. It's a test. There's no fun in playing the game unless you have a worthy opponent. He wants to see if we're as good as he is."

Peter's eyes widened as it dawned on him. "Go back."

"What?"

"You said test," he reminded her.

"Yeah. To see what we'd do."

"What _did_ we do?" he prompted.

"We ran the-" She paused as it hit her. "We ran the security. We revealed the bank's weaknesses to him." She leaned back in her chair, scowling slightly at nothing in particular.

"I wonder if the bureau had security tests on the other cities' banks before the robberies," he mused, pulling his phone from his pocket.

"Who you calling?"

"Jones." Before he could dial the number, the phone started ringing. "Oh, look at that, ESP." He answered quickly. "Jones, I was just calling you."

"Peter, turn on your TV."

He stood to get the remote. "Why?"

"Channel 3."

Peter hung up as he switched the TV on. Nora joined him as a news report played on channel 3, showing footage of a police car speeding through the city streets. "City officials are reporting a total of thirty-six alarms have gone off in banks throughout the city," the news anchor reported.

Peter attempted to dial a number on his phone, but the line was busy. "Every cop in the city must be out there right now," Nora noted.

"I can't get anybody from NYPD," he huffed, trying a second number.

"He's spreading us thin."

"It's another misdirect," he decided.

"None of these banks got Walker's cards. He's going after one of the initial five."

Peter sighed. "You got that right. Renee said she changed the vault access codes," he recalled.

She nodded. "No one can get in without her."

He rushed toward the door, grabbing his coat off the rack. "We gotta find her before someone else does."


	8. Breaking (into) the Bank

Chapter Eight

Breaking (into) the Bank

As per the usual, Peter drove with an almost reckless abandon as they raced back toward the banks. He called Diana as they went. "I'm almost at First Unity," she explained when Peter caught her up to speed.

"First Unity," Peter mused, weaving through lanes of traffic haphazardly, "where we arrested the clock."

"Their alarms are going off again. Half the banks in town are being robbed."

"I don't think so," Peter huffed.

"What, you think it's a smokescreen?"

"Yup. Nora and I are headed to Midtown Mutual."

"Midtown's one of the few that's silent," Diana argued.

"Exactly."

"If Walker's crew are there, you can't go in without backup," she protested.

Of course, that was a concern, but it was a risk they had to take. "Then get us some. I got a feeling they're going after Renee."

"Okay," she sighed, "I'll find you a SWAT team." Peter hung up. With the way he was driving, it didn't take long before they were squealing to a stop in front of the bank. Nora bolted out of the car and ran for the door. She pressed herself against the wall and peered over her shoulder through the glass. Two men inside were dragging what she hopped was simply an unconscious security guard, and not a dead one. Another two men held onto Renee by the arms. Peter sidled up against the wall on the other side of the door, taking a look for himself.

"You see them?" she asked.

"Yeah, I did." Nora stepped quickly away from the door, moving to round the corner, but Peter snagged her by the jacket sleeve. "Where are you going?"

"We gotta break in."

He gave her a hard look. "Nobody said anything about breaking in." She rolled her eyes. Someone else was already in the process of robbing the bank. What did it matter if they snuck their way in to stop them?

"Even if we could get through these doors, which we _can't_, they'd see us. We'll have to go in another way."

Peter didn't look too keen on the idea. "There is no other way," he protested. "We sealed off the basement after your test."

"The basement was the _easiest_ way in," she explained impatiently.

He raised an eyebrow. "Easiest?"

She grinned at the look on his face. "There's always another way." She started around the corner again. "Come on, Peter." Reluctantly, he followed.

Of course, she already had a plan for getting in. She'd considered lots of points of entry before running her security test, a lot of them perfectly good strategies, but she had opted for the path of least resistance as those would be the ones used by a more run-of-the-mill bank robber. She didn't hesitate as she made her way to a ladder bolted to the side of the building and started climbing, Peter just a few rungs below.

The top of the ladder was clear and they ran across the roof, Peter with his gun drawn and ready. As they ran, one of Walker's men wearing a mask, stepped off of a slanted part of the roof, a gun in hand. They both took cover before he noticed them.

"Looks like Walker knew about the roof vent," Nora hissed, crouched down behind a large steel structure.

"Yeah."

She peered around the corner and studied the man for a moment, worrying her lower lip. The man was talking into a walkie. "He's got a radio," she noted.

"We're gonna have to do this quickly," Peter huffed, cocking his gun with a grim expression on his face. "Before he alerts the rest of them." He stepped partially away from the large pipe he'd hidden behind, aiming his gun. "FBI, drop your weapon-"

The man took a shot at Peter, who retreated back as the bullet ricocheted off the pipe. "So much for taking 'em alive, sheriff," Nora said dryly. "Now he's gonna tell Walker we're up here."

"No, he's not." Drawing in a breath, Peter turned once more, taking quick aim. Nora glanced around the edge of her hiding spot just in time to see the walkie in the man's hands shatter as Peter's bullet made contact.

"Now, drop your weapon-" Once again, the man fired at Peter. He turned tail and ran as Peter took cover. "Let him go," he sighed. "We gotta get to Renee."

"Good shooting, Butch," Nora mused as they ran out from their hiding spots, quite impressed by the accuracy of Peter's aim.

"Thanks, Sundance." Nora glanced over at her shoulder, toward the spot where Walker's man had disappeared as they neared the roof vent. It was already unlocked. "Alright, ready?" He nodded. "One, two, three." She jerked the lid open and Peter aimed down the shaft. No one was waiting for them below.

Satisfied, Nora turned to grin at Peter. "What do you say? Ready to break into a bank?"

He couldn't help but smirk a little. "As ready as I'll ever be."

They made their way through the vent, Nora relying on her mental blueprints of the building that she'd memorized as a just-in-case. The vent let out behind a panel downstairs, hopefully away from Walker's men.

"Were you ever gonna share your alternate access route with me?" Peter huffed as he pushed the panel out as quietly as possible, per her instructions. He took a moment to make sure no one had noticed them before crawling out.

"I just did." She crawled out after him. "Admit it, Peter, we'd make a pretty good team."

Peter scoffed softly. "Bank robbers?"

"I see you smiling," she teased with a grin of her own. Of course, they both knew Peter wasn't about to turn to a life of crime and start robbing banks with her, but it was a fun thought.

"Come on, the infamous Caffrey and Burke," she continued as they stalked forward, Peter glancing around corners with his gun in hand. "We'd be legends."

They pressed their backs against a wall, having reached the balcony that overlooked the lobby. Several of Walker's men walked leisurely down below, unaware of their presence. They all wore masks identical to that of the first man. "I could see the wanted posters now," Peter whispered. "But it'd be Burke and Caffrey."

She disagreed, as she had seniority when it came to committing crimes, but it was no time to be splitting hairs. "Okay, go," one of the men below ordered, pushing Renee forward, a gun trained at her back. Peter shot a glance at Nora, whose mind was racing.

With an inkling of a plan brewing, she motioned for Peter to follow her. They crouched low and moved silently away from the balcony. Nora led Peter down into the lobby. They watched as Walker's men made Renee let them through the secured door toward the vault. Giving them a moment to disappear down the hallway, Nora followed after.

Hating to reveal a secret, but having little other choice, Nora pulled Pamela's key card out of her purse and opened the door. "That was supposed to be returned to the bank," Peter huffed.

"Aren't you glad it wasn't?" she dodged. She checked down the hallway. "This way." Peter took the lead, sidling slowly along the wall.

"Open the vault," they heard one of Walker's men order.

"I'm trying," Renee insisted. "I'm doing my best."

"Is it Walker?" Nora breathed.

"I can't tell."

The man barked out another order to Renee. "I'm trying," she repeated. "I'm don't remember." Finally, there was a soft beep, and the vault opened. Peter turned back to Nora.

"Four of them," he hissed, "armed, in the vault with Renee.

"Take her," Nora heard faintly from the vault. "Put her in her office. Don't be stingy with the tape."

Peter peered back around briefly. "They're coming back." Nora nodded soberly and they slipped silently and hastily back through the door before taking off in a dead sprint through the lobby. Nora led the way to a side room and swung around the corner, planting herself against the door frame. Peter was just a step behind, taking the other side of the frame. And not a moment too soon, as Walker's men appeared through the doorway they had just run from, dragging Renee with them.

Thankfully, they turned rather than continued straight toward them. Nora spoke once they'd passed. "There's an emergency exit off the rear staircase," she recalled. "You create a distraction, I'll get her to safety."

"Good idea," Peter allowed, "but wrong. I'll get her to safety."

"I know the layout," she protested.

"I have a gun," he countered, holding it up for emphasis.

She couldn't argue with that. She glanced around the room, spotting a fuse box. "Alright," she agreed, crossing the room and pulling the box's panel open. "You get her to safety, I'll create the distraction."

"_Good _idea."

"I'm gonna need your phone."

Peter's brow furrowed. "What?"

"I'm doing a phone thing," she said impatiently, holding out her hand. "Come on." With a sigh, he tossed it over and she started dialing. Her own phone buzzed and she answered it quickly. Peter watched her, confused. "Do your thing, Dirty Harry."

Rolling his eyes, Peter disappeared out the door. Nora gave him a moment to take cover before flipping the switches on the fuse box, turning out the bank's lights. Late afternoon light filtered in from the windows on the second floor and the room was filled with murky shadows. The vault, she knew, would have been plunged into near total darkness.

Nora returned to the door frame. She could still just barely see Peter with his back to a massive column, lingering in the shadows. Two of Walker's men walked slowly past him, guns raised, but they didn't make out Peter.

Nora tossed her phone around the corner, and it skidded a few feet from the door with a clatter. It shone through the darkness, the display lit up. "There's somebody in the building," one of the men said into his radio. "We gotta move."

Peter made perfect use of the distraction, silently slipping past the men as soon as their backs were to him. Nora bolted out a door on the other end of the room as the men approached, counting in her head. Once she guessed they were close to the phone on the floor, she held Peter's to her ear and whistled.

"Hey, boys, down here," she said softly. "This might be a good time for all of you to leave." The sound of sirens started to filled the air.

"Damn it," one of the men hissed. She hung up the phone, her distraction successful.

* * *

Peter had no time to worry about Nora; she would be fine, she knew what she was doing. And, with as sneaky as she was, she may as well have been invisible in the low lighting. Peter found Renee's office. The woman was duct taped to a chair in the middle, squirming as she attempted to pull herself free.

"Agent Burke?"

Peter shushed her urgently, crouching next to her. "I'm getting you out of here." He pulled his keys from his pocket and started sawing through the tape. It didn't take too long. Once she was free, he led her out to the lobby. He could hear the squeal of sirens drawing closer. The lobby was clear, and they sprinted for the front door.

As he ran, Nora raced up a flight of stairs to his right. "Peter!"

"Sounds like Diana knocked some sense into SWAT," he mused. He glanced over his shoulder. Walker and his men were making their way out of the back room. "Let's get Renee out of here."

"They're going out back," Nora noted.

"Doesn't matter."

Nora didn't listen, heading back into the bank. "I'm going after them."

"Let them go!" he called after her, but she was already wrenching the door open. "They've got guns. Nora!" She raced across the lobby. With a sigh, Peter returned his attention to Renee. "Damn it, she never listens to me."

* * *

By the time Nora made it to the back exit, Walker's men had already disappeared into the crowd. She scanned the crowd desperately, but couldn't see hide nor hair of them. Something rattled on the ground at her feet. One of the masks they had been wearing lay discarded, buffeted by the soft breeze. She stooped to pick it up with a huff of frustration. He'd managed to slip through their fingers.

She rejoined Peter on the other side of the bank in a sour mood. He chided her for running off on her own like that, but she ignored him and he let it drop. He fumed on the way back to the bureau. Jones was waiting for them as they stepped off the elevator.

"Jones, get me Walker," Peter ordered. "I wanna talk to him."

"He's already here," Jones said, pulling the door open.

Sure enough, Walker was standing with another man by Nora's desk. He smiled pleasantly at them. "Oh, I heard what happened at the bank," he said lightly. "I thought maybe I could save you some trouble."

Peter put his hands on his hips. "So, you're here to confess?"

Walker laughed, glancing between Nora and Peter for a moment. "I figured you were gonna give me a call," he explained, "because I'm sure Miss Caffrey has my cell number." Nora bristled at his bait despite herself. "Arthur?"

The other man handed Peter a packet of paper. "You'll find my alibi in there," Walker continued, "in addition to my company's lawsuit."

"Lawsuit," Peter scoffed, thumbing through the pages.

"Yes. Unwarranted harassment, defamation of character… And, you know, there's a litany of other charges, but gee, why spoil the surprise?"

Peter met his eyes evenly. "Enjoy this game your playing," he said slowly, tone taking a dangerous edge. "It won't end well for you."

Walker didn't look deterred. "Oh, the game is already over. This Architect, whoever he is, has already won." He pushed past Peter. "

Miss Caffrey." He stopped as he passed her. "Oh," he mused, turning back toward her, "if I did do it, do you think they would make me a junior FBI agent, too?"

She didn't give him the satisfaction of a response. He just shrugged lightly and headed for the door, Arthur in tow. Jones opened it for them as Peter came to Nora's side.

"Wow, that is one arrogant bastard," she muttered once he was out of earshot.

Peter chuckled. "That's one way of putting it." He sighed. "This is gonna be a problem." They already had one strike under their belts. Now they let the Architect slip right past them, no closer to getting him than they'd been before. A problem indeed.


	9. Inside Woman

Chapter Nine

Inside Woman

They poured over the security tapes the next morning. Nora watched intently while Peter paced. She seemed hyper focused, barely even blinking as she absorbed every detail. Peter huffed as they reached the end for the third time. "Nothing useful on the tapes."

"They were in and out in five minutes," Nora added. "Gridlocked half the city to kill your response time. Plus they had the perfect exit strategy."

He already knew how impressive the robbery had been, he didn't need her to remind him. "Walker was in control every step of the way. He _wants_ us to know it."

Her eyes sparkled. "And that's how we get him. The one thing he can't control is his ego."

_Kind of the pot calling the kettle black_, he mused. "Vanity is not cause for indictment," he reminded her.

She seemed to pick up on his thoughts paralleling her to Walker. "_I_ was never bold enough to walk into your office when you were after me," she protested. It certainly would have made his job a lot easier.

He huffed. "I want this guy."

"Hell hath no fury like a fed scorned," she muttered, smirking slightly.

She was doing it again, that thing where she downplayed serious issues with humor, and Peter's patience was wearing thin. "We are facing a multi-million dollar lawsuit from a suspected thief who walked away from the crime scene in broad daylight," he reminded her firmly.

"What, are you saying we're done?" she asked, the traces of laughter gone from her face.

"We better not be." He sighed. He had to tell her, he realized. It was something he'd been trying to avoid. She already had so much on her mind, but if she didn't take things seriously, then the situation would only go from bad to worse. "Otherwise, I can't stop the DOJ from putting me on the bread line and you behind bars."

"Come on," she scoffed, "while they were chasing ghosts around the city, we were right."

"It doesn't matter. We didn't catch him."

Before Nora could retort, Jones walked in. "Final tally," he explained, handing Peter a piece of paper before retreating quickly.

And what a tally it was. "Looks like they got away with eight-point-two million." Nora's brow furrowed, and her eyes snapped back to the security footage, running in a loop on the display.

"You sure about that?" she asked.

"Jones has excellent penmanship."

She stood and moved closer to the monitor, studying the screen intently. She pressed a button on the remote and the picture zoomed in. "Four guys, two Samsonites each," she mused. She paused the footage, an enlarged image of one of the cases frozen in place. "Peter, about how big would you say the briefcases are?"

"I don't know…" She pulled out a notebook and a pen while he looked at the image carefully. "Sixteen-by-thirteen," he guessed.

"Height?"

"Four, five inches."

"Denomination of the bills. All Franklins, right?"

"Right."

She was writing rapidly, muttering while she worked out the math. "Hundred bills in a pack… Volume of each pack is less than eight inches..." Peter wasn't sure how he felt about her just knowing that off the top of her head.

He glanced down at her math. "Dimensions don't add up," he realized.

She flipped the notebook toward him. "We're looking at around $960,000 in each case."

"That's over six-point-five million total."

She nodded. "Final tally was eight-point-two."

"Which means that more than a million and a half is unaccounted for."

With a grin, she shrugged lightly. "Sounds like enough to be a share." And, of course, there was only one person on the outside who would have been useful enough for Walker to give a cut of the profit.

* * *

Peter called Renee and asked if they could take a look at the scene once more. She had been confused, but agreed easily enough. Peter and Nora made their way to the bank and she let them in. "Thank you," Peter said as they headed through the lobby.

"Sure."

"I appreciate your taking the time."

"You said you had a theory," she prompted.

Peter nodded. "Our faceless friends may have left something behind," he explained vaguely. "I'd like to re-examine the vault, just in case."

"No rest for the weary, huh?" Nora mused. After the ordeal she had been through, it was surprising that Renee was still working so hard.

"Those creeps held a gun to my head," Renee reminded her. "I'll rest when you catch them." Peter shot a look back at Nora. They were silent until Renee opened the vault. "Your team was pretty thorough. What is it you think that they missed?"

Peter ran his hands over the safety deposit boxes on the wall as Nora scanned over the small numbers in the corners. "Two-thirteen," he said.

Renee's eyes grew wide, just for a moment before she schooled her face into a light confusion. "Excuse me?"

"Deposit box 213," he clarified. "Pretty sure no one's looked in there yet."

"Sounds like it's worth a shot," Nora added.

"Uh, I'm sorry, but that's the property of one of our customers," Renee explained. "You'd need his authorization or a warrant."

Peter held up a small silver key. "Got this from the bank president. But, the box doesn't belong to one of your customers. It belongs to you."

She laughed nervously. "I'm afraid you're mistaken," she said lightly, glancing between the two of them.

"No," Peter assured her. "We did a background check on all the boxes in this vault."

"Did you know 213 was rented to your uncle two months ago?" Nora added.

Renee shrugged. "I don't see why that would be a problem."

"I do," Peter said. "He died two years ago." He glanced over at Nora. "Either it's a miracle-"

"Or you forged his application," Nora finished.

"My money's on the latter."

Renee laughed for a moment, but seeing that they wouldn't be deterred, she relented. "Okay, fine." She started digging through her purse. "Um, why don't you have a look?" She pulled a lanyard from the bag and handed it over.

They turned to open the box. Peter pulled the drawer out and opened the lid. It was lined with money, as expected. "Wow," he mused.

As Nora looked over his shoulder, she heard a soft click behind her. She glanced back at Renee. And came face-to-face with a gun. Her stomach dropped to the floor and she raised her hands in front of her.

Peter, back still to Renee, was unaware of the danger and continued as if nothing was wrong. "One and a half million dollars in cash." He pulled the drawer out and turned, words dying in his throat as he saw the gun pointed at Nora. He sat the drawer down slowly on the table and raised his hands. "Alright."

"Did you know she had a gun?" Nora hissed.

"I did not."

"Okay," Renee snapped, "get the bag. And put the money in the bag." She waved the gun around threateningly. Although her gun discipline was awful and her stance was all wrong, Nora was never one to argue with a loaded gun, and did as she was told. Keeping her hands visible, she snagged a bag off a shelf against the wall.

"Not a bad plan," Peter admitted as Nora started piling money into the bag. "Walker leaves your cut, and all you have to do is walk out once the dust settles."

"Pretty good plan, I'd say," Renee said stiffly, eyes locked on Nora.

"Except, we figured it out," Peter reminded her. "You really think you can outrun the FBI?"

Nora paused. "For the record," she offered, "it's a marathon, not a sprint." She flinched away as the gun was pointed at her head once more.

"She would know." Nora glanced over at him, resuming her work.

"Stop talking and put the money in the bag," Renee barked.

Peter did not do as he was told. "That was a pretty nice acting job you did for the cameras," he allowed.

Nora's hand lingered on a pack of money that felt off from the others. She laid it down and flicked over the top bill. A dye pack. Walker didn't take out the stack of bills with dye pack. "Even the best laid plans," she mused, hoping Peter would get the message. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him spare a glance her way.

"Shut up," Renee huffed.

"Walker convinced you to help him, didn't he?" Peter continued, not shutting up.

Renee shifted. "He convinced me I shouldn't wait twenty years to have a mediocre pension to retire on. Why wait, when I can have three times that right now?"

"Because you'll get caught," Nora said flatly.

"Again, she would know," Peter muttered.

Nora scowled over at him. "Did I tell you to stop?" Renee demanded. Nora turned toward Peter, flipping up the top bill on her second dye pack. "Keep filling the bag." Peter glanced down, then back up at her, blinking once. She hoped that meant he understood.

"Could you stop doing that, please?" Nora huffed, trying not to think about the gun uncomfortably close to her skull. She took the two stacks of bills in her hands.

"What?" Peter asked.

"Rubbing it in. It's very hypocritical."

Peter shrugged. "Well, it's not untrue," he protested.

"Hey!" Renee shouted, but they ignored her.

"Okay, you know what?" Nora hissed, "I'm tired of this."

"Being held hostage?" Peter asked.

"No, bickering with you."

He scowled. "Well, you're not the only one."

Renee was very confused and disoriented, switching the gun between them wildly. Just another moment… "Really?"

"Yeah, really."

"Wow, okay. Maybe it is time for this partnership to end."

"Okay, that's fine by me," Peter agreed. "I can finally start my novel." Nora almost cracked up right there. Then she remembered the gun and held it together.

"Novel?" she scoffed. "You can barely write a parking ticket."

"You know, that's very-"

"Hey!" Renee shrieked.

"Hold on," they snapped in tandem. She faltered, eyes wide, gun still waving around.

"Do you really want this to end?" Peter asked.

"Do _you_?" she spat.

"I'm ready."

"Let's do it."

"Shut! Up!" Renee wailed. Nora held the dye packs firmly in her hands. Drawing in a deep breath, she turned back to the frazzled woman and slammed the stacks together as hard as she could. They erupted in a spray of blue, splattering over Renee's face and torso. She cried out in pain, falling back against the wall. "Oh, my eyes."

Peter raced forward and pulled the gun away, turning it back on her. They could hear footsteps coming down the hall. "In here," he called. "We're in here." A handful of agents ran in. "Handcuff her. Somebody read her her rights."

The agent that cuffed her nodded. "Yes, sir."

Peter turned back to Nora, who opted to stand out of the way against the wall. "Nice job."

"Not so bad yourself," she allowed.

* * *

Nora scowled as she attempted to scrub the splotches of blue dye off her wrists at the sink in the break area. It was designed to not be easily removed, of course, and she was making very little progress. Peter came up behind her while she continued to scrub. He laughed at her plight. "Careful, someone might think you've been robbing banks."

"Oh, ha ha," she huffed.

He clapped her on the shoulder. "Got something that might cheer you up." She paused, glancing back at him expectantly. "Ready to go get Walker?"

Grinning, she dried her hands quickly, blue dye forgotten. When they arrived at Walker's home, Whitney let them in. Peter handed her a yellow envelope, asking her to deliver it to Walker, but not say who it was from. They watched from the door, and were surprised to see she did as she was asked. Walker opened it, face drawn in confusion.

"It's only fair," Peter said, the two of them stepping out onto the sunny balcony as Walker read Peter's business card. "You gave us a heads-up. I'm returning the favor." The team of agents swarmed out after them.

"Well, this is only going to help my lawsuit," Walker decided.

"Mmm," Peter mused, considering this, "there won't be any lawsuit."

"And why is that?" Walker scoffed.

"Your inside woman." Walker stared at him blankly. "Renee talked."

Nora smirked up at him. "Why settle for twenty-five to life tomorrow when you can plea bargain today?" He stared between the two of them, dumbfounded. Nora couldn't help her pettiness. "Oh, next time… don't get caught."

Walker dropped his golf club as Jones cuffed him. Nora caught it nimbly. "Whitney, call Arthur. Call the legal team." Jones and the rest of the team headed back inside. Nora and Peter lingered behind. She handed her purse to him, stepped up onto Walker's platform, and snagged one of his monogrammed golf balls.

"Nora?"

She held up her hand for him to wait a moment, lining up her shot with the advice Walker had given her the first time. It sailed straight ahead toward the setting sun, making a satisfying _splash_ as it hit the water in the distance. Content, Nora dropped the club.

"You ready?" Peter huffed, handing her purse back.

She slung it over her shoulder and flipped her hair lightly. "I am now."

* * *

With a sigh, Peter repeated the instructions from his last meeting with the little guy, flipping the newspaper open to the international section and waiting.

"I saw a mockingbird in the park," the little guy's voice said from behind him. _At least he's not using a voice changer this time._ "Then you say, 'what color is the mocking bird?'"

"I'm doing the newspaper thing," Peter snapped. "I'm not doing the stupid bird thing."

Mozzie let it go. "How's she holding up?"

"Better," Peter allowed. "I'm seeing the old Caffrey coming back."

"Good."

"Whatever part you played in it, you did good."

Mozzie was silent for a moment. "I'm sure you didn't call me down here to tell me how great I did."

"Good."

"Great."

"You did good."

"Great."

Peter dropped it. "Look," he sighed, "I know she won't tell me everything. I get that, she's Nora. I'll keep an eye on her... and you. But, that puts me in a position to clean up a mess, not stop it before it happens." Peter turned to look over his shoulder.

"Oh, that's the part you want me to take care of," Mozzie guessed.

"Just tell me if she's gonna do anything stupid."

"I can't rat out my friend," Mozzie said flatly.

"It's to protect her."

"That's the same rationale that was used by the Gestapo and the KBG," Mozzie argued.

Peter was tired of his games, and spun fully around in his seat. "Look at me." Mozzie turned. "She's my friend, too."

Mozzie sighed. "I'll take that under advisement.

Peter somehow doubted that. "Yeah," he huffed, dropping the paper on the bench and turning to leave.

* * *

Nora sat at the table, reading over their files for the millionth time, turning a chess peice over in her hand idly. Sounds of the city wafted in through the open balcony doors, almost soothing in their familiarity. The door opened with a soft squeak and she glanced up. "Moz," she muttered as he rushed in.

"We gotta talk, ma soeur," he said grimly. She stood to meet him at the end of the table. He had a file clenched tightly in his hands.

"What's up?"

"It's about the box." Her heart skipped. "Something strange is going on with the music box." He flipped his file open. "The trail starts here. It was bagged after Forensics held it for two hours in your New York office. Then OPR requested it be transferred to DC."

"I knew they wouldn't let it sit still," she huffed.

"Somewhere between here and there, this happened." He pulled out a sheet and handed it to her. It was a photo of a music box, a wooden one of approximately the same size as the amber box.

"That's not the box," she noted. "I mean, it's got a similar shape and coloring-"

"It was swapped," Mozzie cut in over her.

"And the real box is in the wind," she realized.

Mozzie nodded slowly. "And though we cannot change the direction of the wind, we may adjust our sails."

She sighed. "Yeah, well, the question is, which way are we headed?"

* * *

Peter shrugged his jacket on. He sent Nora home for the day, but stayed behind to finish up his paperwork. His eyes kept flicking to his watch as he worked, the minutes ticking away somehow both agonizingly slowly and uncomfortably fast. At last, it was time to go.

He dialed his phone as he headed down the stairs. "Diana," he greeted softly once she answered. "You ready for Fowler's mystery meeting? I'm on my way."

"I'm right behind you, boss," she assured him before hanging up. He sighed. If Nora had had any idea what he and Diana were up to… Well, honestly, he had no idea what she'd do, but it would likely be nothing good.

The best thing he could do for her was keep her as far away from the music box and the mystery meeting as humanly possible. He didn't even want to entertain the thought of how she'd react if she knew he and Diana had swapped the music box from evidence and stashed away somewhere secret. Even Peter didn't know where. Yes, the best thing for Nora was to keep her in the dark.

He hoped she would be content staying there long enough for Peter to get some answers.


	10. Politics

Chapter Ten

Politics

A chilly wind blustered around Peter as he waited in the darkness, only a few dim street lights offering a thin yellow light. The time specified on the file from Fowler's hard drive had come and gone, and Peter was growing impatient. With a sigh, he pulled out his phone and quickly dialed Diana's number. "Anything?" he asked when she answered.

"Nothing." He could just make out her silhouette as she waited idly a fair distance away from Peter. "It's twenty after. You wanna call it?"

"No, not yet," he decided, following his gut on this one. "Fowler was willing to pull a gun on you to make sure we didn't know about this meeting. Whoever shows up, I'm betting they know why that plane exploded."

"Boss..." she muttered urgently and Peter's heart started pounding furiously.

"Diana, you see him?"

"Yeah." Peter's eyes fell on a figure who came into view up a flight of stairs from the subway. The figure wore a long, dark coat and held a newspaper up to their nose. "I can't make a face."

Peter decided to take the direct approach. He stepped casually toward the figure. All Peter could make out was a tall, boxy build and cropped hair. "Excuse me," Peter called, his voice echoing as he pulled his badge from his pocket, "FBI."

The figure bolted. "Hold it right there," Peter called, running after the him. "He's heading around the stone arches. Cut him off." Peter pulled out his gun, but had no chance to use it. The man was fast, and Peter had to sprint to keep up.

The man turned down a hallway lined with thick pillars. "FBI, freeze!" Peter heard Diana call as she caught up with them. The man veered to the left, weaving between the pillars. As Peter and Diana rounded the corner after him, he seemed to have entirely disappeared. They circled around, back to back, trying to pick his shape from the darkness, but he was nowhere to be seen.

"He knows how to slip a tail," Diana sighed.

"Yeah, this guy's no civilian." Peter glanced up at the ceiling, noting the security cameras. "Alright, I want you to pull tape from every surveillance camera in the area, plus our cameras… ATM cameras, everything in this area."

"Yeah," she agreed.

"I wanna know who this guy is."

* * *

Peter didn't look up as Nora made her way into his office. He was leaning heavily on his hand, staring blankly down at a file open in front of him. "Morning," she greeted brightly, finally drawing his attention. Her brow furrowed. "You look exhausted." She put a cup of coffee down in front of him, which he accepted without a word.

"Oh, I don't sleep well when Elizabeth's out of town," he sighed.

Nora sat on the edge of the table in the corner. "Well, if her company keeps taking off the way it is, you can retire early and become a house husband."

He rolled his eyes. "Because when you look at me, you see soap operas and light housework."

He grabbed a remote off his desk, and Nora glanced at the TV that had been wheeled into the office. "What are we watching?"

"Our new case," he explained, pressing play and moving to lean on the edge of his desk. On the screen, a man standing in front of a red, white, and blue background was giving what Nora guessed was an interview. "Potentially corrupt politician. Need a moment to recover?"

"I might, actually," she mused. "Gary Jennings, state senator."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "You've heard of him."

"I am politically aware," she said dryly. "He's popular. Even Mozzie voted for him."

That was certainly a shock to Peter. "Mozzie votes?"

"More often than you'd think," she allowed, looking him up and down quickly. "Or would approve of." Before he had a chance to react, she snagged the remote out of his hand and turned up the volume. She could still feel his eyes boring into her as she watched.

"Why did you get into politics, Mr. Jennings?" the man giving the interview asked.

Jennings smiled. "Well, I… you know, I didn't plan to. I wanted to be a carpenter."

Nora rolled her eyes. "Jesus was a carpenter."

"Yeah," Peter scoffed, "he's subtle."

Jennings continued on the screen. "But, then I realized that my talents were better suited to helping build America's future with words and ideas, rather than brick and mortar. That's where I find my inspiration."

Peter took the remote back and turned off the TV. "Well, his assistant thinks he's illegally funneling money into his campaign," he explained, motioning to the conference room where a young man sat talking with an agent.

"Don't tell Mozzie."

"We've had our eye on Jennings for a while," he continued. "So far nothing's stuck, but this could be our in." He turned to face her, small smirk playing on his lips. "You wanna join a political campaign?"

_Could be fun…_ "What do I have to do?"

"Let's figure that out." The pair headed into the conference room and took a seat. The other agent stepped out, leaving them with a very nervous young man. "Dylan, thanks for waiting. This is my consultant, Nora Caffrey. Why don't you tell us about Jennings?"

Dylan shifted in his seat. "I was a true believer," he explained. "I believed in Jennings. I still believe in what he stands for."

"What changed your mind?" Peter asked

"Gary started having these mystery meetings. Right after, our campaign started getting an increasing number of donations." Peter and Nora exchanged a look. "Gary started keeping two sets of books. I'm in charge of one, none of the regular staff sees the other one."

"What do you think is inside that book?"

Dylan considered it for a moment, shifting in his chair to sit up straight and look at Peter evenly. "I think he set up a straw donor scam."

Peter glanced back at Nora. "It's an end run around campaign funding rules that limit donations from individuals," he offered.

"Oh, I know what it is," she dismissed. "Politicians were the original conmen." He shot her a withering look. Not one to be deterred, she continued. "Instead of cutting one big check to himself from a questionable source, Jennings gets a bunch of regular people to write him smaller checks. Then he reimburses them under the table for their contributions."

Dylan nodded. "I think the second book has a list of the straw donors and source of the illegal money."

"Well, who has access?" Nora asked.

"His inner circle. Reggie, our head of opposition research, maybe a few others."

Peter turned back to Nora. "We have to find a way to get you inside Jennings' inner circle." He could already see the gears turning in her head.

They asked Dylan a few more questions before sending him on his way. Nora retreated to her desk to brainstorm, leaving Peter alone to get some work done in his office. After finishing up some paperwork, he headed down to the bullpen to see if Nora had any ideas.

"I got it!" she announced proudly, already out of her chair and moving to meet him halfway, file in hand. "Bad cop, good criminal."

"No such thing," Peter argued.

She rolled her eyes. "Listen. It's a variation of a con that I..." He looked at her pointedly. "… thought about running before. The bad guy, the cop, that's you, creates a problem for Jennings. And the good guy-"

"That's you?" Peter guessed, baffled.

"Right. I provide the solution." Only in her mind was there a scenario where he was the bad guy and she was the good guy.

"Listen, if I make Jennings think the FBI is onto him, it will spook him. He'll burn his books."

"Not if he thinks the bureau's barking up the wrong tree," she protested. She held up the file she'd been holding. "Here's an old loan scandal he was wrapped up in."

Peter sighed. "Yeah, he walked away clean from that years ago." Then he paused, realizing what she was getting at. "But it might make him worried if he thinks that the digging around-"

"Could uncover whatever he's really doing," she concluded. "And make him nervous enough to hire a fixer."

"Who does he normally use to cover up his problems?"

She referred once again to her file. "Jennings' usual guy quit a few months ago, same time he started his mystery meetings."

Peter smirked a little, flipping through her file. "This could work," he decided.

"All we need's a bad cop."

He shrugged. "I can do bad cop."

She scrunched up her nose. "I've seen you do mildly irritated cop." He glared at her, cutting her off. Her eyes grew wide for a moment. "Wow..."

* * *

The plan was simple. All Peter had to do was go in and get Jennings all riled up with his bad cop act. He followed Dylan, still fidgety and nervous, through Jennings' office. The young man knocked briskly on the door.

"What?" a man's voice snapped from the other side.

Dylan peeked his head in. "Sorry to interrupt, sir."

"Dylan, I said no more appointments."

Peter pushed past Dylan before the boy had a chance to say anything. "Peter Burke, FBI," he announced, flashing his badge. Dylan closed the door behind Peter. Jennings and another man – the man named Reggie that Dylan had mentioned before – stared blankly at Peter.

Jennings motioned for Reggie to get lost before speaking to Peter. "Well, what can I do for you, Agent Burke?"

"I came to say thank you."

Jennings chuckled. "You're welcome. What did I do?"

"Nothing yet," Peter allowed. "But I'm gonna make my career taking you down.

Jennings nodded stiffly, his placid smile fading. He considered what Peter said for a moment before shrugging lightly. "I'm sorry," he muttered, taking a seat. "Am I actually being accused of something?"

"The Michelson loan scandal."

"The FBI looked into that scandal years ago," Jennings dismissed. "They found nothing. You really wanna waste taxpayers' money with another witch hunt?"

Peter smirked. "I do. I know if I start kicking over rocks, something will crawl out. And when it does, it's gonna get your name, my name, and the word 'scandal' on the same headline."

Jennings didn't look impressed. "Then you figure you can have any job you want."

"Yeah," Peter chuckled. "Maybe I'll take this office."

"Why me?" Jennings asked dryly.

"Because I can tell you're dirty just by looking at you. So, I'll keep digging until I find something that will bury you. You've got my word on that." Peter let his words sink in for just a moment before showing himself out.

Peter headed back to the van around the corner. Nora sat at the monitor with a pair of headphones around her neck, doodling on a pad of paper.

"How'd I do?" he asked, drawing her attention.

"Nice acting," she allowed.

"Who said I was acting?" Before she could respond, his phone started ringing. "Dylan," he answered. "Did it work?"

"Yep. Whatever you said, Jennings is freaked out. He called an immediate war room."

Peter cover the speaker. "He called a war room," he muttered to Nora. She grinned triumphantly as he returned to the phone call. "Alright, keep us posted."

He hung up. "I'm the bad cop," he reminded Nora. "Now it's your turn."

She flashed a cocky grin.


	11. Good Criminal

Chapter Eleven

Good Criminal

Peter was busy with paperwork when Nora silently slid into his office and snagged his newspaper off his desk. "Caffrey, that's my newspaper," he said dryly, not looking up.

"Relax, I'll give it back." She started flipping through it.

"Touch my crossword, and I will put you back behind bars."

She took a peek at it. "Ooh, you do it in pen," she noted. "I'm impressed. I'm looking for inspiration, you know?

"...And I think I just found it," she decided. "What was the fallout from your meeting with Jennings?"

"He called in some favors, tried to get me fired. Hughes is protecting me, which should frustrate Jennings even further." If he was being honest, he was somewhat amused by the whole situation.

"Excellent."

"According to Dylan, he's looking for a new fixer as we speak."

She smiled. "I didn't doubt you for a second."

"Dylan put your name on the list," he continued, "but Jennings is still looking at other people, too." He pushed himself to his feet and headed for the door. "So, we need to make sure you get that job."

"Well, I don't have an alias with this type of background," she admitted.

He chuckled, heading for the conference room, not looking if she was following or not. "Well, you're about to get one, courtesy of the FBI."

The team in the conference room was already hard at work around the table. "What do you guys need to know about creating a background?" she offered.

Diana rolled her eyes. "Nothing, we're the FBI. You're good, but we're better." She slid a book across the table to Nora. "You're now Bethany Cooper."

Nora picked up the book and looked it over. "Wow, high school yearbook," she mused. "You're definitely thorough."

"They're thorough," Peter huffed. "Jennings doesn't mess around with this stuff. That means no anklet when you're with him."

Nora was busy flipping through the book. It didn't take long to find her picture. "Nice photoshop work," she mused. Peter certainly hoped so. The tech guys spent a lot of time on it.

"We'll add the yearbook to the school's archive in case they check," Diana added.

"I finally get to be valedictorian," Nora laughed.

Peter paused. That statement didn't mesh with his picture of Nora. Nora was smart. She was driven and hard-working, whether she was working on a con or a case. While he had never been able to dig up any information from before she turned eighteen, he had always pictured her as being the top of her class, one of the kids that everyone assumes is going to change the world.

"You weren't valedictorian?" he asked, curious.

She shrugged, face passive and uninterested, but he saw her jaw tighten just a little. "You have to graduate for that."

That was not the answer Peter had been expecting. Before he could think of something to say, Diana continued with her rundown of the alias, apparently unconcerned by Nora's admission of having never graduated high school.

"We're giving you a four-point-oh from Harvard Law," she explained.

Nora made a face. "Harvard is so pedestrian," she whispered.

"Don't let Jones hear you say that," Diana joked.

Peter laughed, moving on from his moment of shock. "After graduating, you did a stint at the firm Brexton and Miller in Delaware." He handed her a file to read.

"Very exclusive and Grisham-esque," she noted. She was silent for a moment, reading over the file. "This is perfect." She sounded kind of surprised. Diana smiled smugly.

* * *

Nora had a couple days to commit her new alias to memory before her interview with Jennings. Peter picked her up at her apartment the day of the meeting. She opted for a black pencil skirt and a red blouse.

They had the van set up a couple blocks from the restaurant. Peter wasted little time after they got in to start bombarding her with questions. "So, why didn't you graduate from high school?"

She sighed. She had expected the question to come up sooner or later. "Does it matter?"

"I'm curious."

"I have a right to privacy, you know," she huffed. "I'm not obligated to share every little detail of my life with you."

"Come on," he prodded. "I don't know a single thing about your childhood."

"I'm aware," she said dryly. "Maybe there's a reason for that."

He wondered what she could be hiding. Peter had tried many, many times to dig up anything about her childhood, with no success. He couldn't find so much as a birth certificate. No school records, DMV records, not even a library card.

He had considered the possibility that it was an assumed identity, but no matter how much he looked into it, he couldn't find anything to suggest it wasn't her real name. For a while, he even considered that she'd _legally_ changed her name, but there were no records of that, either. It was as if Nora Caffrey simply sprang into existence on her eighteenth birthday.

"Why are you being so defensive?" he asked.

"I'm not being defensive," she protested. "I just don't want to talk about it. It's not important."

Somehow, he doubted that, but he decided to let it go. She was getting agitated, and he needed her on her game if she was going to get Jennings to hire her.

The team announced that everything was set up and ready to go. "Okay, good criminal," he joked, unlocking her anklet, "do your thing."

* * *

Nora buried her annoyance as she walked, slipping into the mind of Bethany Cooper. The interview was at an upscale restaurant, and she walked with confidence through the dimly lit hallway.

She spotted the familiar men at a table near the front. "Bethany Cooper?" one of the men, Reggie, called.

"That would be me," she said with a smile.

Jennings offered her a hand, and she shook it. "Pleasure to meet you. This is Reggie Mayfield, head of opposition research."

She shook hands with Reggie. "Bethany."

She took a seat across from the men. A waiter brought her a cup of coffee. "Oh, thank you so much." She reached for a packet of sugar, slyly dropping a bug in the holder as she did. "Well, if you called me, means you've got a problem on your hands, right?"

Jennings and Reggie shared a brief look. "We've got a fed on steroids who's going after Gary," Reggie explained, "about the Michelson-"

"Details don't matter," Nora dismissed, cutting him off.

"Oh, I think they do," Jennings chuckled. "This FBI agent is-"

"Don't worry about the agent." She stirred her coffee idly. "Your constituents aren't going to care about him."

"Why won't they?" Reggie asked.

Nora smiled. "Because they'll be far more concerned with your position on the new stadium."

Reggie's brow furrowed. Jennings' face remained even, but she could see in his eyes that she had him curious. "What new stadium?"

"That's exactly what you're going to say. 'What new stadium?' And when the reporter asks what you're talking about, deny you're in any way involved with talks to build it."

"There isn't going to be a new stadium," Jennings protested.

"Now your getting it."

Reggie didn't look impressed, but Jennings was certainly intrigued. "Look, if there were a new stadium being built, which there isn't, why would I oppose it?"

"Oh, you don't oppose it," Nora amended.

"I don't?"

"'Course not," she laughed. "You just don't want them building the stadium in that particular location, because that's where you want them to build the new children's park." They both look lost. She motioned to Reggie's newspaper. "May I?"

"Oh, sure." She flipped open to the page she'd found in Peter's paper and turned it for them to see. A small smile spread on Jennings' lips as it finally clicked.

Nora glanced between them, pleased with herself. Reggie, she noted, did not seem as enthusiastic as Jennings. "We're talking to several people about this job-"

"Alright," Nora sighed, moving to stand, but Jennings motioned for her to stay seated.

"Go on," he insisted.

Nora leaned on the table, twisting a curl around her finger and meeting Jennings' eyes evenly. "Who's going to care about an old loan scandal of yours when you're fighting against the system?" She put some passion behind her voice as she spoke. "Against the corporate fat cats who think overpaid athletes are more important than our city's children."

This seemed to resonate with Jennings as he considered it. "But this story won't hold up," he decided.

She shrugged. "You've got less than a month before the election,' she reminded him. "It doesn't have to hold up. We just have to distract, right?" She locked her fingers in front of her and rested her chin lightly on them. "You've got a problem. I'm your solution, Senator."

Neither of them spoke. She smiled kindly between them for a moment. "Have a great day," she said, standing and leaving them to think over what she'd said.

She made her way back to the van. Peter and Jones were grinning broadly. "How was that?" she asked.

"Jennings told Reggie to cancel the other interviews," Peter explained. "We got him."

* * *

Later that evening, Peter called Nora up to his office. She came in, phone pressed to her ear. "You got it," she told the person on the other end.

"Hey, do you have-"

She pressed a finger to her lips, silently shushing him. Peter waited, indignant while she finished her phone call. "Alright, first thing tomorrow," she agreed. "Bye."

"You don't get to 'shh' me," Peter huffed when she hung up.

"Oh, okay. Next time, I'll let Jennings hear your voice in the background," she said dryly, sinking into the chair across from him.

"You're hired?"

"Like I said, bad cop, good cop."

"Good _criminal_," he corrected.

"Consultant." He let it go, chuckling a little under his breath.

He leaned back in his chair. "So, the stadium thing worked?"

"In today's world, rumor is truth," she mused.

Peter furrowed his brow. "But you told him to deny that there were any talks."

"Exactly," she allowed. "Which means there must be talks."

He shook his head. It was the van all over again. Her interview had been a nightmare to listen to. It was nonsense. "This is why I hate politics," he huffed.

With a laugh, she stood to head back to her desk. She paused at the door. "You wanna grab a drink after work?" she offered. Peter was somewhat surprised. Since getting out of prison, she'd rarely wanted to go out, opting go home and do whatever it was she did when she was alone. Peter tried not to think about that too much.

"Can't," he said, just a hair too quickly. "I owe Captain Shadduck a favor. Gonna help the local P.D. with a stakeout. Surveillance and deviled ham 'til four AM. You wanna join-"

"I'll pass," she said quickly, nose crinkled in distaste. "Thank you, though."

"Alright." She practically bolted out. He sighed once she was gone, retreating down the stairs. He didn't like lying, not even to Nora. It was for her own good, but it still left him feeling uneasy.


	12. Sneaking Around

Chapter Twelve

Sneaking Around

Peter took a little time to relax. Between Nora, their every move being examined under a microscope, and the search for Kyle's killer, it felt like he never had a moment to just decompress. He sat at the couch with a bottle of beer and propped his feet up on the coffee table. "Don't tell Elizabeth," he told Satchmo, who wagged his tail happily in response.

He only had a moment, however, before the expected knock on the door pulled him away. He rushed over to let Diana in. "Hey."

"Hey. Oh, it's just you and Satchmo tonight?"

"Yeah, just the dog and me."

Diana started making herself at home. "Elizabeth still in San Francisco?"

"She is." He put a hand on her shoulder as she shrugged out of her jacket. "Can I get you a beer?"

"Sure," she agreed.

"Alright." He returned from the kitchen a moment later with a bottle for each of them. "How was your dinner with Christie?"

She kind of sighed, shrugging her shoulders lightly.

"Oh, she still having a tough time adjusting to New York?" he guessed.

"We'll get through it," Diana dismissed.

"Yeah, you will. You will." They, however, had more important things to discuss. "Alright. Any luck putting a face on our mystery man?"

They made their way to the table. "He was good," she admitted. "He avoided our cameras and the surveillance cameras on the street." She started pulling files from her purse and they flipped through the photos of the man.

"Ooh, just bits and pieces of a face."

"Well, put the pieces together, and we get this." She handed him a blurry, blocky photo with a mishmash of face parts. The only discernable features were slightly shaggy dark hair and a bold brow line.

"Ugh, I think I saw this guy in a horror movie," Peter joked.

"Yeah," Diana laughed. "Our patchwork man. I'm running it through the facial recognition database discretely. We'll see what we can get."

"What about the location of the music box?" he wondered. "Anybody poking around?"

"Couple of feelers," she admitted, "but no one knows where it is."

"Except you."

"Just like you asked, boss." He nodded. "Are you sure you don't want to know where I'm keeping it?"

"No, it's safer for the both of us if I don't." He stared down at the picture of the patchwork man. "This guy knows something. Let's find him."

"And Caffrey?" she asked softly. "You sure you want to keep all this from her?"

Peter sighed. It was a hard situation for all of them. "Nora's still recovering from Kyle's death. I don't wanna reopen that wound with any sort of false hope. Once we have something concrete, then I'll tell Nora," he decided. It weighed on him, it really did. He huffed in frustration. "Diana, I hate sneaking around like this. We're supposed to be the good guys."

"Hey," she said softly, "we are the good guys."

He smiled, feeling a little better about it. He returned his gaze to the photo. "Boy, this guy's a professional. If we're looking for him, there is a fair chance he's looking for us." He paced over to the window, peering out into his pitch black back yard for a moment before shutting the blinds.

* * *

Nora made her way into Jennings' office early the next morning. "Morning, Dylan," she greeted.

In typical fashion, Dylan was antsy and on edge. He shifted in his seat. "Jennings isn't in yet."

Nora's eyes raked over his office through the glass. "Good. I need some time in his office," she explained, already digging through her purse.

"Well, uh, the door is locked. And Jennings and Reggie are the only ones with keys, but they'll be here any minute." He followed her to the door.

Unconcerned, she picked out the lock picks she needed and got to work. "So distract them," she advised, starting on the lock. She glanced over at him. "Can you do that?"

"Um… I'm a terrible liar."

"Good, we need more terrible liars in politics." He didn't seem too reassured, but the lock popped and she disappeared inside the office, closing the door behind her.

She wasted no time peeking into the filing cabinets and desk drawers. "Come on, come on," she muttered. The book had to be somewhere in the office. She studied Jennings' desk, pushing his chair out of the way, and she spied a locked drawer at the top. "Jackpot."

While she worked on the lock, Dylan rapped sharply on the glass. She peered up, spying Jennings and Reggie nearing the door. She finished with the lock quickly and pulled open the thin drawer. She could hear Dylan trying to distract Jennings, light panic edging his voice.

The book wasn't inside, but as she swept over the bottom of the drawer with her fingers, she found a matchbook. She ducked down against the desk, pulling out her phone to snap a quick picture of it. "Gotcha," she muttered, sending the photo on to Peter. Curious, she pulled up the tab. A single word was written at the top. CiNNaMoN212. A password?

There was no time to worry about it. She tucked the matchbook back in the desk and locked it back up again. Slowly, she pulled the chair back into place, hoping Dylan was being sufficiently distracting.

No one came busting in, so whatever Dylan was doing, it was working. She peered around the corner of the desk, seeing Jennings' back to the office and Reggie no where in sight. Keeping crouched, she made for the door opposite the one she'd entered through.

She closed it silently behind her and took a moment to breath, recompose herself, and flatten her hair back into place. "Good morning, Senator," she greeted brightly as she rounded the corner like nothing had happened. Dylan let out a breath, tense shoulders relaxing some.

Jennings smiled. "Ah, nice and early. Good start already." He shook her hand firmly.

"I was gonna go grab a smoke before we jump in," she lied. "Do you have a light?"

He buried his hands in his pockets. "Smoking makes you look weak," he chided.

"I'll remember that." _Then why the matchbook_? Jennings started for the office. "Oh," she called, catching up with him. She dropped her voice down low. "We should discuss my fee. I was hoping we could do it off the books."

He stared at her for a moment. "I'm sure we can come to an arrangement," he assured her with a knowing wink.

* * *

Peter was still enjoying his favorite breakfast when a text from Nora came in. There was no message, just a photo of what looked like a pink flower made of lots of interlocking circles over a purple background. He didn't recognize it, but if she was sending it to him so early in the morning, it must have been relevant to their case.

He didn't want to think about how she'd come across it, as he was reasonably sure it wasn't by legal means. He forwarded the image to Jones to get a crack on tracking it down.

By the time Peter arrived at the office, Jones had already managed to link the image to a web address. Curious, Peter typed the address into his browser. As the page loaded, the picture from the matchbook seemed to bloom like a flower on the screen, over a white password bar.

Before he had time to wonder what the password might have been, his phone started ringing. Nora, hopefully with some sort of an explanation about the picture. "How's your first day at work?" he greeted.

"I've taken up smoking," she sighed.

"Politics is already corrupting you."

"Yeah?" she laughed. "Did you get the picture I sent?

"Yeah." He picked up the papers Jones had given him. "The symbol is the flower of Aphrodite. Ran it through the ACS database. It came up with two coffee shops, a bakery, a winery… and a high-class escort service."

"Politicians and hookers," she mused. "That one's old as time. Listen, there was a word written inside the matchbook. Cinnamon two-one-two. All caps except the vowels."

He jotted that down quickly. "Got it. Any luck convincing Jennings to pay you off the books?"

"Yeah, yeah. He made a call to get the money," she explained. "I put an ear to the door. He called the man on the other end of the line Darrow or Narrow."

Peter took note of that as well. "Alright, break's over," he decided. "Get back to work." He hung up before she could make some snappy retort.

He glanced back at his note and started typing the password. "C-I-N-N-A-M-" His office phone started ringing. _Popular guy today_, he mused as he paused to answer it. "Hello?"

"Hey, sweetie!" El greeted brightly.

"Oh, hey, El. How's San Francisco?"

"It's amazing here," she gushed. "I biked across the bay this morning to watch the sunrise."

He smiled. She sounded so happy. "How was the sunrise?" He continued typing in the password while she spoke.

"It reminded me of Belize, which makes me miss you even more. You got any big plans for tonight?"

"Nope, just catching up on some work."

As soon as he hit enter, music started playing on the website, accompanied by a woman's voice. "Are you looking for high-class female companionship?" the woman asked in a husky tone. Peter's stomach dropped to the floor.

"Uh, what kind of work is that?" El asked dryly.

"It's not what it sounds like," Peter insisted, pushing random buttons in his panic to make the computer stop.

The woman's voice just kept on going as pictures of beautiful, scantily-clad women flashed up on the screen. "Our discreet service gives you a chance to spend the day with the girl of your dreams."

"Or that," he muttered, attempting to block the pictures from his sight.

"We'll introduce you to fashion models," the woman continued, "pageant winners, beau-" In desperation, Peter slammed the lid of the laptop shut, cutting off the voice mid-word.

Peter didn't breathe, waiting for Elizabeth to speak. "Oh, I can't wait to hear this explanation," she said, voice tight.

"Research, I swear."

"Uh-huh." And Peter knew he was in for a very, very long conversation.

* * *

Jennings gathered Nora and the rest of his team, sans Reggie, to talk about their situation. Nora wasted no time getting to the point. "Has the press picked up on the stadium story?"

"Couple of reporters have asked about it," a woman confirmed.

"And we denied it?"

"Of course."

"Good. Make sure to specify that he did not meet with the zoning committee," Nora instructed.

"He _didn't_ meet with the committee."

"Exactly. Back-date a meeting in his books showing it was scheduled and leak it. We'll say _he _canceled it."

The woman did not seem to be getting it. "But why?" she protested. She scoffed, glancing over at Jennings. "This doesn't make sense."

"Of course it does," Nora insisted. "Jennings is a maverick. That's why the FBI's digging into his past. He's upsetting all the right people."

"But there _is_ no stadium project," the woman argued. Jennings laughed under his breath. "We can't create one out of thin air."

"Don't be so cynical," Nora chided. "That is exactly what we're going to do. These people want a park. That's why we're gonna deny that Jennings has met with a couple of big corporations-"

"Which corporations?" the woman asked dryly.

"Doesn't matter," Nora dismissed. "Pull their names out of a hat. We're going to deny that Gary has met with them about forcing a bond measure that would turn the park into a new stadium." Jennings nodded along, following every word intently. "The more we deny there's smoke, the more the press will see fire."

The woman opened her mouth to argue again, but Jennings cut her off. "Listen to her," he advised. She held her tongue, looking quite sour about it. Nora couldn't help but smirk a little.

Reggie chose this time to make his appearance, jaw set in a hard line. Jennings glanced over his shoulder at the man, face darkening. "Let's take a fifteen minute break, everyone." Everyone started clearing out, and Nora turned to go as well, trying to decide how she could best spy on the meeting. "Bethany, you stay."

With that problem solved, she took a seat. "What's going on?" she asked.

Reggie tossed a large yellow envelope down in front of her. "We may have found a solution to our problem with our FBI agent," he explained, lowering himself into the chair next to Jennings.

Nora pulled the papers out of the envelope. They were photos. Her brow furrowed as she studied them. They were very clearly taken through the Burkes' back window. In the first photo, Peter stood with Diana, hand on her shoulder. "That's not Mrs. Burke," Reggie offered.

She rifled through them, mouth feeling very dry. They were all similar photos of Peter and Diana. To someone who didn't know them, it might have looked suspicious, though Nora knew they were all innocent when in the correct context. "When were these taken?" she asked.

"Last night." Nora froze. Peter was supposed to have been on a stakeout. _Why did he lie to me_?

"If Burke's having an affair," Jennings mused, "we can use that. We know who the girl is?"

"Not yet," Reggie admitted. "I'll find out."

Nora needed to turn things back into their favor. "Well, I know who she is." She sat the photos down and looked evenly at the men opposite her. "She's a prostitute." _Diana is going to kill me_.

Jennings and Reggie shared a look, confused. Reggie leaned forward, brow furrowed. "How do you figure?"

"This Burke is an FBI guy. He's a control freak. He's not gonna have an affair," she scoffed, as if it should have been obvious. "It's too sloppy."

Jennings considered it for a moment. "You may be right." Reggie nodded slowly.

"We can use her," she decided. "These pictures aren't enough to take Burke out. But if we can get him to meet her again and she's under our thumb..."

The men shared another look, and Jennings nodded stiffly. "We might have someone who can help us with that," Reggie admitted. _I thought you might_.


	13. Escort

Chapter Thirteen

Escort

Nora was still stewing as she made her way into the office, Reggie's photos tucked under her arm. She'd already had a nice long chat with Mozzie about it, but every time she thought about it, her anger welled up in her stomach.

She didn't bother knocking before heading into Peter's office. "We might have a small problem."

He raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

"How mad do you think Diana will be when she finds out I told Jennings she's a prostitute?"

He stared at her for a moment, bemused, before she dropped the photos on his desk. He studied them for a moment. "You told them Diana is a hooker?" he laughed.

She wasn't amused. "Captain Shadduck sure cleans up nice," she said tightly.

Peter rolled his eyes. "The stakeout was canceled," he explained dismissively. "Diana came over to work." She wasn't convinced. "Why am I explaining myself to you? Not everything's a conspiracy, Nora."

She smiled placidly. "I hope that's true." He wouldn't meet her eyes, pretending to busy himself with paperwork. "I've never lied to you."

That certainly caught his attention. "Oh, come on, Nora," he scoffed. "You lie for a living."

"Not to you." He froze. "I may have let you draw certain conclusions that weren't correct, but never an actual lie." She turned away, staring out over the bullpen to let him think that over.

"Alright, so one of Jennings' guys was standing in my backyard taking these," he said, changing the subject.

"Yeah, you got to them," she allowed, returning to Peter's desk. "They think you're having an affair. Took a risk and told them Diana was a prostitute, and they took the bait. Told me to find her and put her in touch with a guy they know named Barrow."

"Ah, your mystery man Jennings called to get you paid off the books." He leaned back, pressing his fingers to his temple as he thought. "So, maybe the Aphrodite Escort Service is where the cash is coming from to pay the straw donors."

"That's what I think," she agreed. "Can you set Diana up with an alias as good as mine?"

"As an escort?" he scoffed. "Sure." He stood and crossed over to the door. "Diana, can you come here a minute?" She started up the stairs. "You gonna tell her?"

"No, I'm not telling her."

"You're the one who made her a hooker," he protested.

"You're the one who's sleeping with her."

"You got a point..."

They were out of time to discuss it. Diana stopped in the doorway. "Yeah?"

Eyes a little wide, Peter just went for it. "Nora told Jennings you're a hooker. You and I are having an affair. You're gonna go meet with an escort service."

Nora expected fire and brimstone. "Okay," Diana agreed brightly. "Anything else?"

"No."

She turned to head back to her desk and Peter let out a breath he'd been holding. Nora watched her go, both relived and impressed. "It's good to have her back," she mused.

* * *

Mozzie was waiting for her back home. "Did you confront the suit about the pictures?" he asked. She paced back and forth behind the table, rolling a stress ball between her hands.

"Yeah, I did. He said it was a misunderstanding." She rolled her eyes.

"Oh, right," Mozzie scoffed. "So was the Bay of Pigs. So, you think he's looking into who killed Kyle in his off hours?" She shrugged. Mozzie considered it for a moment. "I suppose that's a good thing."

"I wanna know what he's found," she muttered.

"He's trying to protect you."

It was a cold day in hell when Mozzie was siding with Peter. "Come on, Moz, I don't need protecting."

"It's only fair," he protested. "We keep secrets from the suits all the time. Now they have their own. There's a certain… universal synchronicity to it all."

"Spare me your circle of life crap," she snapped. He just shrugged and returned to what he was working on. "What are you writing?"

"Oh, it's a letter campaign to stop this new stadium from being built."

She couldn't help but smirk. "There's a letter campaign?"

He shot her a pointed look. "You really need to pay more attention to what's going on in the world around you."

"Yeah..." She squeezed the stress ball, torn. "Listen, Moz, you should know that-" He looked up at her with big, puppy-dog eyes and she just didn't have the heart to tell him. "That you got a real shot at stopping this." He nodded enthusiastically and returned to writing. "Keep it up."

* * *

Peter tried his best to ignore Nora as she tapped her heel impatiently against the metal floor of the van. It was stuffy and claustrophobic with three grown men and Nora crammed inside, and she seemed to make it her mission in life to make everyone as miserable as she was.

"It is really exciting in the van," she muttered. Peter drew in a steadying breath. "Do I have to be here?"

"You'll sit there and you'll like it," he huffed, feeling remarkably like the parent of an unruly child – which, he supposed, wasn't too far off. "Now, pay attention."

They waited, listening through the headsets for Diana to meet Barrow. "You must be Lana," they heard a man say through her mic. "Roger Barrow. A friend of mine suggested that you and I could do some business."

"What kind of business?" Diana asked.

"That's our guy," Peter mused.

"What do we know about Barrow?" Nora asked, headset pressed to her ear as she listened, now interested in what was going on.

"Arrested three times," Jones offered. "All in Chicago. Aggravated assault, extortion, last one was for attempted murder." He passed Nora a file over his shoulder.

"Attempted?" she muttered. "At least we know he's not very good at it."

"His target was shot dead in a mugging two weeks later."

"Okay, maybe he is good at it," she amended.

They hushed up, listening to Diana's conversation once again. "I want to know about your FBI friend," Barrow prompted. "What do you want?"

"Here we go," Peter muttered.

"What do you think?" Diana asked Barrow.

"Money," he guessed. "Look around. My girls make ten K a night. The richest men in New York come here. You wanna work for me, you'll make in a week what you normally make in a year."

"I'd like that," Diana said.

"Here's the thing," Barrow continued. "I need to know that I can trust you. And I need to make sure you know what you're doing. This is for the penthouse suite. Pick any guy at the bar. I want his ten grand in my hand by four A.M."

"Ten thousand in cash," Diana agreed. There was silence for a moment. "Guys, I was not prepared for an audition. I'm either walking out of here or taking some guy up to the penthouse."

Peter sighed, rubbing his temples. They couldn't just make things easy for them, could they? "So, what's the plan?" Jones wondered.

Peter glanced over his shoulder, hoping Nora would have some idea. Instead, he found the spot she'd previously occupied empty. "Where'd Caffrey go?" No one had any idea. Peter sighed, standing to pace. "Okay, let's make the best of this," he decided, pushing Nora out of his mind. He just had to hope she had some plan, though he really wished she would share her ideas before running off half-cocked. "We have three hours. If we can get ten thousand, we can follow the money trail. See if it leads back to Jennings."

"Peter, we can't get a cash request from the bureau that fast."

"I know," he sighed. With any luck, whatever Nora's plan was, it would cover that. He sat back down and pressed his headset to his ear. Diana was chatting with a man at the bar, pretending she was having a good time.

They had no choice but to sit on their hands and wait.

* * *

Nora rounded the corner as Diana, forcing a smile, waited with some rich guy in a nice suit at the elevator. "Excuse me, miss," she called.

Diana turned, eyes wide with confusion and relief. "Yes?"

Nora held up a hotel ID tag. "I'm from concierge services. Are you staying in room 912?"

"Um, yes, that's me," Diana said, playing along.

"We got a report from the room below you that there's a leak in your room. We will, of course, move you to a new room, if you wouldn't mind coming with me while we wait for maintenance."

The man looked between the two of them, confused. "What about me?"

Nora smiled pleasantly at him. "I apologize for the inconvenience. Though, I'm sure there are plenty of lovely women downstairs who would appreciate your attention, sir."

"Oh, right..." Still looking slightly lost, the man ambled back the way he'd come. Once he was out of earshot, Nora grinned broadly at Diana. With a ding, the elevator door slid open and Nora motioned Diana inside.

"What the hell?" Diana demanded, still looking mostly relived. "Does Peter know what you're doing?"

"Well, he does now." Diana rolled her eyes. Nora leaned in close. "By the way, Peter, if you're wondering where to get $10,000, meet our mutual friend at my place."

* * *

Peter listened, not surprised in the slightest, as Nora lied Diana out of taking some rich guy up to the penthouse. "By the way, Peter, if you're wondering where to get $10,000, meet our mutual friend at my place," Nora explained.

"I was afraid she was going to say that," he sighed. "Alright, Jones, you stay here and keep an eye on those two. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Without waiting for a response, Peter pushed his way past the other agents and out of the van. The cool night wind was refreshing after the stale van air. As he drove, he tried not to think about how Nora just happened to have ten thousand dollars just sitting around somewhere, or how it was definitely not legally obtained, or how he was going to have to explain his use of said illegally obtained money in his reports.

As expected, Mozzie was waiting at the table in Nora's apartment when he got there. The little guy didn't speak, and Peter sat down across from him slowly. "Nora explained the situation?" Peter asked. Mozzie just nodded once, still not speaking. They stared at one another, the little guy drumming his fingers on the table. The muscle in Peter's jaw tightened as he fought to keep his cool.

"You've come to the right place," Mozzie finally said.

"Cut the crap, Mozzie. Can you get us the ten grand or not?"

"Yes, but first some ground rules." Peter sighed. _This ought to be good_. "I want full immunity about anything you may see or hear tonight."

"Let's just say I'll owe you one," Peter amended.

Mozzie considered it for a moment. "I accept your counter offer," he decided. "I need your shoelace."

"My shoelaces are gonna get us the $10,000?" Peter asked dryly.

"Rule number two: no further questions."

With a huff, Peter pulled his foot up onto the chair and started unlacing his shoe. Mozzie rounded the table, holding his hand out expectantly. "I'm doing this more out of a morbid curiosity than anything else," Peter grumbled.

Not for the first time, he had to wonder how someone like Nora had ended up befriending Mozzie. At times, it seemed he was too paranoid even for her. Yet, she had a fondness for the little man that Peter couldn't hope to explain. Her answer, when pressed, had been that 'he grows on you.'

Peter handed over his shoe lace. "I'll also need a magnet and a People Magazine," Mozzie instructed as he headed toward Nora's bed.

Peter stared after him, incredulous. "This is a scavenger hunt now?"

"I refer you to rule number two."

Peter pursed his lips, counting his blessings that Nora wasn't nearly as infuriating as Mozzie, even on her worst days. "Magnet," Peter muttered, standing to snag a magnetic memo clip off the fridge. He continued on to the coffee table and rifled through Nora's magazines. "No People… I've got the New York Journal magazine supplement."

"That'll do, pig. That'll do." Peter shot him a withering look. He could see now that Mozzie was busy fiddling with a cable hookup panel on the wall. He glanced over Mozzie's shoulder as he pulled the cover off.

Mozzie took the magnet and began tying the shoelace through the hole on the clip. "Oh, I also need a $20 bill." Peter glared at him, wondering if he was serious, but deciding that he didn't want to risk Mozzie opting not to help. He pulled a twenty out of his pocket and reluctantly forked it over. "Great. Thanks."

Peter watched as Mozzie lowered the magnet down in the hole the panel covered. There was a soft _tink_ of metal, and when Mozzie pulled the magnet up, there was a small key stuck to it. He held it up triumphantly. Peter wondered how many little secrets like that Nora had scattered through the apartment, then decided he really didn't want to know.

"Just a key, yes," Mozzie muttered. "Another piece of the puzzle. And don't forget a hammer, a crowbar, and a radio."

Peter shook his head, baffled. "Scavenger hunt."

"'Life is more manageable when thought of as a scavenger hunt as opposed to a surprise party.'"

"Jimmy Buffet," Peter realized.

Mozzie started for the door. "You're driving."


	14. Hotel Blues

Chapter Fourteen

Hotel Blues

"So, how do you know that guy isn't going to go tell Barrow what happened?" Diana asked as the elevator continued its climb up to the penthouse suite.

Nora shrugged. "Flattery takes you pretty far, so I'm sure we'll be fine."

"And if Barrow realizes the guy who left with me is back, with me nowhere in sight?"

"I had my eye on Barrow," Nora assured her. "He wasn't anywhere near you when you and that guy headed to the elevator."

"And if he saw you-"

"He didn't."

"If he did, then what?"

Nora rolled her eyes. "Jennings keeps him far away from the campaign."

Apparently satisfied, Diana nodded. "I don't blame him."

"I'm curious, what were you gonna do if I hadn't stepped in?"

Diana chuckled, grinning rather mischievously. "Well, I would have taken him up to the room, put a gun between his ribs, and told him to shut up and sit tight or I'd arrest him for solicitation."

"Damn, girl," Nora laughed. The elevator slowed and the doors opened with a _ding_. "After you."

Once in the hotel room, Nora snagged the phone off the table. She dialed quickly. "Room service," she requested of the automated line. Diana shot her a withering look. "What? I'm keeping up appearances. Barrow thinks you brought some big spender up here, remember?"

"Caffrey, this isn't what we're here for."

"This isn't what _I'm_ here for, but you on the other hand..." Nora shrugged. "Gotta keep your cover."

* * *

Peter's hands clenched the steering wheel tightly. Otherwise, he was afraid he might reach over and strangle the obnoxious little man sitting in the passenger seat as he spouted out directions, sending them on a winding trek through the city.

Finally, they rolled to a stop outside a nondescript warehouse. Mozzie led the way to a garage door and entered a code on a key pad. The door gave a strained lurch and started crawling up slowly. Mozzie waited until the door closed behind them again to flip on the lights.

"We're looking for unit R-39," he announced. They started walking, and Peter scanned the units for the correct number. "Oh, radio, please."

"Why?" Mozzie stopped, fixing Peter with a pointed look. "Yeah, yeah," Peter sighed. "Rule number two." He dug through his bag and pulled out the radio he'd scavenged from Nora's apartment.

Mozzie sat it on a stack of boxes and pressed play. The soft notes of Clair de Lune wafted through the dimly lit corridors. Mozzie seemed somewhat entranced, eyes closed, swaying back and forth with a hand on Peter's shoulder.

Just for a moment. Then, he scurried away down the hall. Peter rushed to keep up with him. "So, why are we doing this?" Mozzie mused.

"We need the money to take down a corrupt politician."

"Oh, I hope it's that guy who's running against Jennings." Peter stopped, raising an eyebrow. Nora had said Mozzie voted for Jennings – multiple times – but he had sort of figured she mentioned their case to the little guy. Evidently not. Mozzie's face fell. "It _is_ Jennings? Oh, forget it. He's the only one fighting against the stadium."

"There _is _no stadium."

"Exactly. Because of Gary Jennings," Mozzie huffed, getting worked up. "Those children need a place to play." _What does Mozzie care about a children's park?_ Peter wondered, more and more baffled about the man the more time he spent with him.

"Alright, listen to me. If he is innocent-"

"Which he is," Mozzie insisted.

"Then this won't matter."

Mozzie considered this, scowling slightly. "Fine. Just note that I'm assisting under extreme duress."

"Noted." Peter glanced at the unit behind Mozzie. "Here it is."

Mozzie spun around, spotting unit R-39. "Well, it's actually behind R-39."

Peter glared at him. "How are we supposed to get behind that?" It had to weigh a ton.

Mozzie held up a hand, and a moment later, a man's voice cut over the music. "What's all this noise?" Peter saw a man round a corner and turn off the radio. "I'm over on six, doing my rounds. I can hear this crap from all the way over there." He stalked toward them.

The man, apparently the warehouse's security guard, wore a shirt with the name 'Ed' stitched on the front. Mozzie turned to greet him. "All apologies, Eddie."

"Mr. C?"

"Yeah," Mozzie confirmed.

The man smiled. "Hey, how the hell are ya?"

"Good."

"How's Miss F?"

"Good." Peter wondered what kind of bizarre business called for Nora and Mozzie being referred to as Miss F and Mr. C. "Listen, Eddie, I need a little favor." He slipped Eddie the twenty Peter had given him earlier, much to Peter's annoyance.

Mozzie just turned back to him, smiling as if the entire situation were perfectly normal. Which, to him, maybe it was. Eddie disappeared down the hallway, returning a few minutes later on a fork lift. He pulled unit R-39 out started carting it away.

"Mr C. and Miss F?" Peter wondered.

"Oh, there's a long, strange story attached to that."

"I'm sure," he sighed. "Now what?"

Mozzie held out his hand expectantly. "New York Journal magazine." Peter pulled it out of his bag and handed it over. Mozzie looked at it for a second before pressing it to Peter's chest.

"What do I do with this?" Peter demanded.

"Stay here and read it. 'There are many things of which a wise man might wish to be ignorant.'"

"Emerson."

Mozzie looked mildly impressed. "Very good."

Peter leaned in toward him. "'All of your quotes are getting on my nerves.' Peter Burke."

In response, Mozzie snatched Peter's bag and headed into the open space unit R-39 previously occupied. With a sigh, Peter took a seat on a nearby office chair and started thumbing through the magazine. The sound of metal clanging filled the air.

* * *

Somehow, Nora managed to convince Diana to let loose a little bit and change into one of the hotel's complimentary robes. "If Barrow comes up here, he's gonna wonder why you're still dressed," she'd noted with a suggestive waggle of her eyebrows. "Come on, relax a little bit. We run the shower and if Barrow comes up, I hide. Easy-peasy."

Not one to be left out, Nora also changed into a robe, and decided to call it their impromptu girl's night. They lounged on the spacious bed and ate plates of food delivered by room service. With their bellies full, they laid back. Nora smirked at Diana.

"Okay, you're right," Diana sighed, smiling a little despite herself. "It doesn't hurt to relax a bit."

Nora rolled back and stared up at the ceiling, sighing contentedly. "I wonder how many rooms like this I've stayed in," she mused.

Diana rolled over, eyes glittering. "Wanna know a hotel room secret?"

"Pretty sure I know every secret there is."

"All hotel room paintings are locked onto the walls, right?"

"Sure. I mean, they're not hard to unlock, but why bother? Paintings aren't worth stealing, and the hotel doesn't put safes behind them."

"They don't," Diana allowed, "but there's something better." She rolled out of the bed and headed over to the nearest painting. She examined the wall under the frame, running her finger along it. Nora sat on the edge of the bed, watching with mute curiosity. "There's a little mark, right here, so you know something's there."

Diana snagged a knife off her plate and started working the lock. "It's for people who live out of hotels," Diana explained. "A sort of secret art, to make the experience more bearable." The lock popped and Diana lifted the painting off the wall.

Underneath was a funky painting in shades of pink, orange, brown, and black. It was a bizarre geometric cityscape with Saturn in the background where you might expect the sun or moon to be. Nora laughed, standing to get a better look at the odd design.

She cast a glance at Diana. "How did you know about this?"

"I'm the daughter of the diplomat," Diana admitted nonchalantly. "I grew up in fancy hotels."

That was certainly news to Nora. "You're the daughter of a diplomat?" she echoed.

Diana rounded on her. "Why are you so surprised?"

Nora shrugged. "Diplomats' daughters don't normally know how to field strip a semiautomatic."

"My bodyguard taught me," she said with a small, wistful smile.

"Oh, right, you had a bodyguard."

"His name was Charlie. He practically raised me. He was like a father to me..." Diana stared at the painting, face drawn down.

"What?" Nora prompted gently when Diana seemed a million miles away.

"He died in the line of duty… protecting me." Diana pushed past Nora, sinking down onto the bed.

Nora sat down next to her, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Were you there when it happened?"

"I was."

Nora was silent for a moment as bittersweet memories resurfaced. Nora found herself smiling as she remembered the good things. "My first date with Kyle… We conned our way into some rich guy's hotel room." Diana rolled her eyes, corners of her lips tugging up. "And we ordered the most expensive food they had. Did you know there's a thousand-dollar hamburger?"

"You're joking."

"We ordered five." Diana laughed, but Nora's smile grew somewhat somber, almost sad. "And from our window, there was a view of this run-down old bridge. I'm sure it was a mess up close, but from our angle, the way the sun hit it… it was beautiful. And we never wanted to leave that room."

Nora's eyes stung as tears welled in the corners of her eyes. She blinked them away stubbornly. "It should have been me on that plane," she muttered.

Diana met her eyes evenly. "But it wasn't." Nora swallowed, looking away. "I know you blame yourself for what happened to Kyle. I blame myself for Charlie." Nora glanced back over. "But Charlie wouldn't have wanted me to do that. He'd have wanted me to go on with my life. I didn't know Kyle, but I'd guess he'd want the same thing."

Nora nodded slowly, not sure whether that was true or not. "Now," Diana continued. "Do you have a pencil?"

Nora blinked, pulled out of her thoughts. "I do. Why?"

"Because there's a painting in this room with nothing behind it." She glanced over her shoulder at a black and white painting, and Nora couldn't help but laugh.

* * *

Peter busied himself with a crossword before he could get too frustrated with the whole situation. Typical Nora, leaving him to deal with her bizarre little friend while she and Diana got to lay low in a cushy penthouse suite in a fancy hotel.

Nearly an hour passed, and time was beginning to run thin. Peter had long since stopped wondering at the metallic clinks and thumps coming periodically from behind him. A particularly loud crash, however, made him start to grow worried.

"Everything alright back there?" he called.

"Keep reading." A loud thump punctuated his words. Peter pursed his lips. A moment later, Mozzie hurried around the corner. In one hand, he carried the bag and the hammer Peter had picked up from his own house. In the other was a stack of cash. "Your money, sir," he said with a small bow. "We should go."

Peter tucked the money in his jacket pocket and followed the little guy out the way they'd come, trying very hard not to think about how many laws had to be broken to get that ten grand in his hands.

Once in the car, he put the money in the bag. There was no time to drop the little guy off at Nora's. Instead, Peter brought him along back to the Municipal Utilities van. "Wait here. I'm gonna need another favor in a minute."

"Whatever you say, pig."

Jones jumped as Peter burst in and slammed the bag on the table. He dug the stack of bills out. "You need to get these serial numbers logged as quickly as possible. We have ten minutes. We get those numbers, we can trace them back to Jennings." Jones got to work. "How are Caffrey and Diana holding up?"

"How do you think?" Jones chuckled, putting the stack into a cash sorting machine that would log the numbers.

Once the numbers were logged, Peter returned to Mozzie. "Think you can get this up to the penthouse in the next five minutes?"


	15. Timmy Nolan

Chapter Fifteen

Timmy Nolan

It was almost four in the morning. Nora was beginning to fade, and Diana was doing her best to keep Nora awake. They sat with their legs criss-crossed, facing each other on the bed. Nora studied Diana's eyes intently, and listened as Diana revealed Peter's closely guarded secret. "You're lying to me," she accused.

"I'm not," Diana insisted. She seemed entirely earnest. "I swear I'm not."

Nora shook her head in disbelief. It was absurd. It wasn't the Peter she knew. "There is no way Peter had a mustache."

"For a month," Diana laughed. "It was amazing."

"I would have broken out of prison to see that." They both erupted in giggles.

There was a thud and their laughter died in their throats. "Barrow has a key," Diana breathed. Before Nora could react, Diana shoved her roughly, sending her tumbling over the edge of the bed, the wind knocked from her chest. Diana sprawled out on the bed suggestively.

"You know, I'm flattered, but suits really aren't my type," Nora heard Mozzie's familiar voice call. She sat up, cradling her shoulder, aching from her less than graceful landing. Nora glared at Diana as she climbed to her feet, and the agent offered an apologetic smile.

"You two look comfortable," Mozzie joked. He was dressed like a waiter, and had a room service cart in front of him. He pulled the lid off a platter in the center, revealing a stack of money artfully spread around the plate.

"Great." Diana ran to the bathroom to change back into her dress. Once she was done, Nora changed quickly. Diana was already rushing out of the room by the time Nora finished.

Before heading out, Nora came to a stop next to Mozzie, who studied her hotel room secret art. "What's that?" he asked.

Nora smiled wistfully. "An old hotel secret."

* * *

Barrow was satisfied with Diana's 'audition,' and the team called it a night. Peter walked with Nora on her way to Jennings' office the next morning. He was still miffed about being stuck with Mozzie the night before. "How is it you always get the cushy penthouse suite with room service, and I end up with the sweaty bald guy at a warehouse in Queens?"

Nora smirked and held a finger up under her nose. "Stop that," Peter snapped.

"Can I see a picture of the 'stache?" she plead with big puppy-dog eyes. "Please?"

"No, I burned all of them. They're burned." She pouted but stopped pressing. He noted a green band around her left arm. "What's with the armband?"

"It's Save the Park Day."

They passed another woman with the same armband. "Save the park!" the woman greeted as she passed.

"Oh, yes, of course," Peter muttered. "Does Mozzie know that the one conspiracy theory that he's falling for is actually true?"

Nora shrugged. "Hey, who's to say it's a conspiracy theory?" Peter rolled his eyes. "Perception drives the reality, Peter."

"Alright," he chuckled.

Nora's phone started ringing and she dug it out of her purse quickly. She showed him the screen and he nodded. As annoying as her shushing him before had been, she had a point; it would have been bad if Jennings had heard Peter's voice.

"This is Bethany," she greeted brightly. She listened for a moment. "Alright, relax, Gary. This is what we've been preparing for." She watched, eyes sparkling, as a little boy with a ball and bat walked by. Peter wondered what about that seemed to spark something in her mind. "Call up a reporter friendly to the campaign," she instructed. "I want them to ask you about the loan scandal, okay?

"And I want you to answer with a simple question: 'did you ever play stickball?'" She smirked at Peter, clearly thinking her idea was a stroke of genius. Suddenly, her reaction when the kid went by made sense. She had some sort of plan tumbling around.

* * *

Nora bounced excitedly as she watched the news report, a crowd of campaign workers watching with her. Jennings had set it up exactly as she's instructed. "The FBI has reopened their investigation into the Michelson loan scandal," the reporter said. "Is this true?"

"It is," Jennings admitted. "But let me ask you something." Nora mouthed along as Jennings spoke. "Have you ever played stickball?"

"No, I have not, Senator."

"All you need to play stickball is a broomstick and a ball," Jennings explained. "It's the ultimate form of democracy, right? Anyone can play it. Even Timmy Nolan."

"Who is Timmy Nolan?" the reporter asked.

"Timmy Nolan... was a friend of mine that I used to play with. And he's also the reason why I am fighting so hard to make this park a reality." Nora glanced over her shoulder at the people watching behind her. They smiled, impressed with how well the interview was going. It was going to be a hit with the constituents.

"Look, we all know why a five-year-old closed investigation has suddenly resurfaced," Jennings sighed. "It's because there are people out there who would rather use this land for their own profit than to let the Timmy Nolans of this city have a place to play. Well, I'll tell you this; they can come at me with whatever they want, but I will not back down."

The crowd behind Jennings in the footage started clapping, and the people in the room with Nora followed along. Nora turned the TV off and turned to face them. "Alright," she cheered. "Yeah. Good work." She pointed at one of the team members. "Good job on Timmy Nolan, my friend."

Reggie rounded the corner, face drawn. He clapped with the rest without much enthusiasm. "Cooper," he called over the noise, drawing her attention from a couple of the guy who'd come up to talk to her.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

She turned back to the men. "Thanks, I'll check in later," she said, excusing herself. Reggie was standing away from the crowd and she joined him. "Look, I need to know what's going on, or I can't fix it." Reggie said nothing. Nora shrugged, turning away. "If you can't trust me-"

"You believe in Gary Jennings, right?"

She froze. "Yeah. I wouldn't have done this if I didn't. He's gonna be governor in the next five years." Well, he would be, if the FBI wasn't after him.

"He's got his sights set even higher," Reggie told her. "To make it there, we need to take out this FBI agent."

Nora's heart flip-flopped. "Didn't you just watch the news? This story's buried. I took care of it."

"For now, yeah. But I've seen guys like Burke. You buried him now, but that's just gonna heat him up."

She didn't like the dark tone of Reggie's voice. "What's your plan?"

He shifted, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "This prostitute, Lana… I think she knows a lot more about Burke than she's letting on."

"You want to talk to her?"

"Not me," he allowed. "I've got a guy."

Ice flooded Nora's veins. "Barrow?"

"Yeah, he'll get it out of her."

"What's he gonna do to the girl?"

Reggie considered it. "He'll scare her. Maybe rough her up a little."

Nora stared at him, eyes wide. "And what if he gets out of control?"

He didn't look too concerned. "Is that so bad?"

Even if she was a prostitute, no one deserved that. Nora licked her lips, trying to keep her cool. "When's Barrow gonna have this discussion with the girl?"

"Any time now." He smiled tightly and walked off.

With shaking hands, Nora quickly texted Peter.

* * *

Peter's blood ran cold as he read Nora's text message. The team was smooshed in the van, ready to record her conversation with Barrow.

_SOS DIANA_

"Diana's in trouble," Peter said. Nora wouldn't have said anything if she didn't think it was possible. Jones' eyes grew wide. "You two come with me. Jones, call for backup." Peter rushed out of the van.

As they ran, a gun shot rang out like thunder. "Shots fired," he called. Gun drawn, they crashed through the door. Peter was relieved, but not entirely surprised, to see Diana standing over Barrow with a gun trained on him, high heeled foot pressed down on his chest. Blood slowly stained through the shoulder of his jacket.

"Aw," Diana cooed, smirking. "You were worried."

Peter crept slowly toward them, making sure the rest of the room was clear. "Well, not about you." He holstered his gun. "I was worried what you'd do to him."

"Think we've got enough to arrest Jennings now?"

Peter stooped to scoop up Barrow's gun. "Yeah. I think we do." He passed it off to the agent behind him.

* * *

Nora watched Jennings getting his picture taken in his office. Peter had sent her word of the good news that Diana was okay and Barrow was in custody. It was a matter of waiting for the interrogation.

Peter came to a stop next to Peter, taking a moment to watch Jennings pose for the cameras. "You get what you needed?" Nora asked.

"Barrow rolled on Jennings," he confirmed. "He figured a confession was better for the soul." Jennings took a seat on the corner of his desk for another photo, too busy to notice that Peter was chatting it up with his fixer. "Jones just finished arresting Reggie. And he found a copy of the second set of books on him. Now for the big guy."

Peter started for the office, but Nora held up a hand to stop for him. "Oh, wait for it..." Jennings smiled broadly for his photo, giving two thumbs up. "Yeah," she laughed.

"Picture perfect," he mused. Agents swarmed in behind them and they made their to the office. This certainly caught Jennings' eye, and his smile faltered as soon as the camera flashed.

Peter and two agents barged into his office while Nora waited outside the door. The camera man took that as his cue to leave. "I don't think this is the kind of headline you're looking for, Agent Burke," Jennings sighed, smirking like he'd won. "'Rogue FBI agent arrests innocent man'"

Peter laughed. "You're a saint." He turned back to Nora. "Isn't he?"

She stepped inside. "Oh, yeah. I can almost see the halo." Jennings' smile dropped.

"Hey, what do you think?" Peter asked, pointing to a section of the wall. "Hang the dogs playing poker on that wall?"

"That would really bring this room together," she agreed.

Jennings was leaning heavily on his desk, realizing how bad his position had become. Peter turned back to him, all business. "Senator Jennings, you're under arrest."

"This is ridiculous," he growled, the other agents moving to cuff him. "On what charge?"

"Oh, a bunch of them. Campaign finance fraud, and as an accessory to murder."

"He also knows about Barrow," Nora chimed in.

"I also know about Barrow." Jennings swallowed hard. "Nothing to say to that?"

"I want my lawyer."

Nora nodded. "Good choice." The agents led him out, his campaign staff watching in shock and confusion.

"Oh, Peter!" Nora grabbed the remote off Jennings' desk and turned on the TV, hopping up to sit on the desk. Peter took a seat next to her as the news broadcast started playing.

"A new bond measure has been placed on the ballet that, if passed, will ensure this field will become the new home of Timmy Nolan Memorial Park," the newscaster reported. A light rain fell over a crowd of people all there to support the park movement.

Peter turned to Nora, amused. "Who's Timmy Nolan?"

"I have no idea," she admitted. "You guys have to invent him." She nodded toward the screen as the reporter continued.

"… for the greater good of the community. In this case, by a little boy named Timmy Nolan and an old fashioned game of stick ball."

Peter laughed. "Look at you. You got a park built." She shrugged modestly, unable to keep the grin off her face.

* * *

Nora was still glowing with pride at her accomplishment when they returned to the office. She sat with Peter in his office while they wrapped up the case. "Hey, you still up for those drinks?" he offered, still feeling slightly bad about blowing her off before.

"Yeah, sure," she agreed. They stood and headed down into the bullpen.

Diana walked up to Nora, face grim and serious as she handed her a file without a word. Confused, Nora took it and flipped it over. A litany of emotions flashed over her face as she looked over the contents. Her eyes fell on Peter, full of an unsaid accusation.

"Peter, how could you keep this from me?" Peter felt his stomach drop. He rounded on Diana.

She didn't meet his eyes. "I'm sorry, boss. She needed to know." He was in disbelief. How could Diana rat him out? How could she go behind his back and tell Nora about the box?

There was nothing to do but come clean, hope she would understand that he was doing it for her own good. "Nora-"

"I was expecting more Magnum P. I," she chided, lips curling up. Peter's brow furrowed. "And less Super Mario." She turned the file around.

His eyes grew wide as he took in an old photo of him with a mustache. "I burned all of those," he protested as Nora and Diana burst into laughter. "How did you-?" He lunged for the file. "Give me that!"

She ducked away easily. "No, no."

"Come on." She danced around his reaching hands, light on her feet even in the death trap heels she called shoes.

"It's more Burt Reynolds, no?" Diana offered.

Nora started backing up toward the stairs. "I'm gonna take a poll."

"You're not gonna take a poll," he snapped.

With a smirk, she held the photo up to her face. "I'm-a Mario," she said in a very convincing Italian accent. She skipped up the stair, punching up in the air like Mario jumping.

"Oh, that's funny," he called dryly. "It's a good thing you look so good in orange." She was not deterred.

Diana chuckled, coming up behind Peter. "That's for making me a prostitute."

"Nora made you a prostitute," he argued. "But, fair enough."

The agents upstairs were howling with laughter, crowded around Nora. "Free," she announced. "Who wants it?" They snatched it out of her hands, continuing to roar.

Peter sighed, unable to keep himself from smiling just a bit, and turned back to Diana. He noted the second file in her hands. "What else do you have?"

She handed it over. "Facial recognition came back."

"And?"

"Nothing on our mystery man."

He flipped the file open and was greeted with the amalgamation of face pieces. "Who are you?" he sighed.


	16. Untitled

Chapter Sixteen

Untitled

The weather was warming up again. A cool breeze swept the city, sending Nora's hair fluttering around her face. She pulled a five out of her purse and turned to a newspaper vendor on the corner. "How are you doing today, ma'am?" the man asked.

"Very well, thanks." She grabbed a paper and handed over the cash. He pressed change into her hand and she stowed it carelessly in her pocket. "Thank you."

An impressive art theft had made the front page under the heading 'Lewis Thayer Painting Stolen.' A small photo of the stolen painting, a colorful pop art piece, accompanied the story. She smiled as she read over the details.

"I hope you're not admiring your own work," Peter's familiar voice called over the sounds of the city.

She shrugged. "I wish I was," she sighed. "But I got a pretty good alibi." He raised an eyebrow. "I was working with you yesterday."

Peter chuckled. "I'll be sure to back you up when we talk to the Lampson Gallery. Curator is waiting for us upstairs."

"I love a good art heist."

He shot her a pointed look. "_Solving_ a good art heist."

"That's what I said."

They started walking. "Let me see that," he said, already snatching it out of her hands. "Lewis Thayer's 'Untitled Number Two.' It's worth _four million_." He laughed. "You'd think for that kind of money, he'd have bothered to come up with a title."

"Well, it is one of his seminal pieces," Nora protested.

"Is it a fad or talent that drives up the price?"

"Both. Neither. Don't try to understand the peculiarities of the pop art market."

"Would you pay four million for that?"

She crinkled her nose. "Pay…?"

"Yeah," he scoffed. "You're the wrong girl to ask." She smirked as they made their way into the federal building and up to the twenty-first floor. Jones handed some files to Peter as they passed.

As Peter had said, the curator was waiting for them in the conference room. "Miss Jeffries," he greeted, catching her attention as she paced anxiously. "Special Agent Peter Burke. This is Nora Caffrey." They shook hands with her in turn.

"How're you doing?" Nora asked, earning just a half-hearted shrug in return.

"Tell us what happened," Peter prompted, laying out his files on the table.

Miss Jeffries took a deep breath. "Well, as you can see, the 'Untitled Number Two' was simply cut out of its frame." Peter pulled photos out of his file as she spoke, and Nora peeked over his shoulder at them. They were cleanly cut, even though it had been a quick job.

"How does someone pull a down and dirty slash and grab from a major gallery?" he wondered.

"It's one of the few options left," Nora offered, saving the frazzled looking woman from having to answer, "if you wanna knock over a high-security-" Peter cut her off with a hard look.

"I was talking to her," he said dryly.

"Miss Caffrey's right," Miss Jeffries allowed. "We have sensors in the frame, but nothing attached to the canvas."

"Cutting it out of the frame circumvents the alarm," Nora whispered.

"Got it," he huffed before turning back to Jeffries. "Security cameras?"

"The theft occurred during our daily security tape swap.

Peter considered this. "So, we're not dealing with complete amateurs."

"No, actually," Nora agreed, "it sounds like a pretty good plan."

"What are the odds you'll be able to recover the painting?" Jeffries asked.

Peter chuckled, tossing the photos back onto the table and picking up Nora's newspaper. "Well, it would've made my job a lot easier if you had kept it from the press."

Miss Jeffries' brow furrowed as she looked at the headline. "We did."

"Somebody didn't."

* * *

Peter set Jones to work tracking down the source of the leak while he and Nora sat in the bullpen, mulling over their files. Nora spun idly in her chair rather than reading, tossing her rubber band ball in the air as she tended to do when she was bored. She claimed it helped her think.

Jones came back shortly after, ready with a file in hand. "Anonymous tip," he said. Nora stopped what she was doing, now invested.

"You think our thieves called it in?" Diana wondered.

"Good chance," Nora decided. "Headlines attract black market buyers."

"Which means they wanna move the painting quickly," Peter concluded.

"I can ask around," she offered.

"Good," he agreed, standing. "Run your street contacts. Diana, you've got Europe. Check with Interpol. Jones, you're on Asia. Check with the Alat over there."

Nora pulled out her cellphone and started dialing as Peter read over the file Jones gave him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her glancing up at him pointedly for a moment before putting her phone down and staring. "What?"

"Do you mind? I need to check my street contacts," she said stiffly.

"Calling Mozzie?"

She shrugged. "He's good at this kind of thing."

"You sure he didn't do it?"

She shook her head. "Slash and grab," she said, as if that was all the necessary explanation. Peter just stared. "Frame's too high."

He thought about that for a second. She was right. Unless he smuggled a step ladder into a gallery, it was unlikely. "Yeah." He walked away to let her do her thing.

* * *

The phone only rang once. "Hello," Mozzie greeted.

She dropped her voice down low, leaning on her desk. "Hey, Moz, the Lampson is missing a Thayer."

"I didn't steal it," he huffed, indignant.

"I know."

"Reward?"

"Sizable."

That was all the convincing he needed. "Alright, I'm on it." She hung up. Her mind churned over the case. It was strikingly familiar, though that wasn't a thought she'd opted to share with Peter. Not yet. On top of that, her conversation with Mozzie had been… strange.

Mozzie got back to her about meeting at the park shockingly fast. She opted to head there early, finding his tone somewhat suspicious as he asked to meet up with her later rather than sooner. She found him standing in front of a statue, tapping a cane in a three-beat pattern repeatedly.

She joined him with a quizzical look. "What are you doing here?" he snapped. "I said meet me in an hour."

"You found a source in less than an hour," she shot back, crossing her arms. "That's pretty quick, Moz."

"I only deal with professionals," he reminded her.

"And you asked about a reward," she continued, "which you never ask about. So, I'm starting to think you're talking to somebody else and not telling me."

He drew in a breath. "You're paranoid," he dismissed unconvincingly. "Besides, my life doesn't revolve around you."

"Who's your fence, Moz?" she asked dryly.

"I'm friends with many people of unsavory character."

"Mm-hmm," she muttered. "How long have you been talking to her?"

"I know not of who you speak." He tapped the cane twice on the ground. "Sorry, meeting aborted. My sources spook easily. They have to think I'm a vault." He tapped twice more. "Meeting aborted."

From behind the statue, Nora heard three faint taps ring out. "Sounds like the meeting's still on." She pushed past Mozzie and rounded the statue. Three more taps sounded as she walked, Mozzie on her heels.

"I can't believe I'm saying this," a familiar woman's voice sighed. "I saw a mockingbird in the park."

"What color was the mockingbird?" Nora replied. Alex froze, shoulder slumping.

"The bird died," Mozzie huffed, taking Nora's wrist and attempting to pull her away. "Let's go." She broke free of his grasp.

"What are you doing here, Alex?" Nora asked. "I've never known you to go skulking around after reward money."

Alex shrugged. "Well, after the plane blew up, a lot of people were asking questions. I'm trying to stay off the radar. Makes it hard to find work."

"You came to Mozzie, not me?"

"He's not tethered to the FBI," she reminded Nora pointedly.

"Two taps meant abort, by the way," he huffed.

She glared at him. "Of you could have just yelled 'abort.'" His brow furrowed as he considered that. "I found the missing Thayer painting. It was fenced in Dubai."

"Thanks," Nora allowed. "But you didn't come all this way just to say that. What are you really doing here, Alex?"

She blinked innocently. "I needed to talk to Mozzie. Alone."

That was news to him. "What did I do?"

"We'll talk," she told Nora, ignoring Mozzie.

Nora stared at her. "We're not friends anymore?" Before Alex could answer, she was saved by the bell; Nora's phone started ringing, and she stepped away to answer it. "What's up, Peter?"

"Got news about the painting. Meet me in the office."

"On my way," she agreed, hanging up. Mozzie and Alex stared at her. "Gotta go back to the office. We'll talk later." With a last pointed look at Alex, she turned and started back for the office.

* * *

"Great," Peter said, holding the phone to his ear with a shoulder as he wrote, "great. Overnight it." He saw Nora rushing up the stairs and hung up quickly, flopping down in his chair. "I found the painting."

She scowled. "How'd _you_ find it? I found it."

"Where?"

"It was fenced to a textile magnate in Dubai."

Peter's brow furrowed. "A hotel heiress in Budapest just turned hers in."

"Good news," Jones called as he and Diana jointed them.

"You found the painting overseas," Nora guessed.

Diana glanced between Nora and Peter, confused. "Scotland Yard has it."

"It's also in Dubai and Budapest," Peter explained.

"What?" Jones asked.

Nora sighed. "They're forgeries."

"All of them?" Diana wondered. "How do you know?"

Peter rubbed his temples. "Because Customs clamps down when a theft occurs. The risks of getting the original out are too high."

"But," Nora continued, "if you make forgeries ahead of time and take them out of the country before the heist, you're in the clear." All eyes fell on her. "Steal the Thayer, leak the theft to the press, then sell the forgeries."

"And the original never leaves the country," Peter concluded. He scowled at his desk, wondering how he'd missed it.

"You've seen this scam before," Diana realized.

Peter nodded. "I know someone who-"

"Allegedly," Nora snapped

"Allegedly pulled it off before." Realization lit up Diana and Jones' faces. "We have a copycat on our hands."

"Who are they copycatting?" Diana asked Nora pointedly.

She grinned broadly, giddy as a school girl. "Me."


	17. The Forger and the Fence

Chapter Seventeen

The Forger and the Fence

The three paintings were all shipped overnight, and Miss Jeffries spent the better part of the next morning studying them in excruciating detail, comparing them to a photo of the original. Finally, she reached her verdict.

"So, you've confirmed these are all forgeries?" Peter asked while Nora took a look for herself, using Miss Jeffries' photo as a reference.

"Yes, all of them," Jeffries sighed.

Peter watched as Nora leaned in close to one of the forgeries, squinting at a spot on the bottom before checking it against the photo. She worried her lip, clearly noticing something they hadn't. Without a word, Nora moved to the window and inexplicably started closing the blinds. "Nora?" She didn't answer, just returned to the painting to take another look. "Nora."

"I don't think our forger went off a photograph," she muttered. "I think they stood in front of the original when they painted these."

"How do you know that?"

"Thayer used the benday dots method to show shading," she explained. "He spread paint across a paper stencil and pushed it against the canvas with a brush. The shadowing in these paintings is more deliberate." She leaned in close to the painting again. "It's minute, but these dots grow starker at the bottom. The forger probably started these in afternoon light when the color was slightly more red."

Peter squinted at the painting, unable to see what she was seeing, but decided to take her word for it. "He also didn't realize they caught the painting when the light was pouring directly down on it," she continued, "causing a deeper contrast at the bottom."

Peter snatched up a photo of the gallery, showing off the now empty frame along some other pop art pieces. "There's no lighting overhead," he noted. "Was this painting ever hanging below that skylight?" He passed the paper to Miss Jeffries.

She thought for a moment. "Yes," she realized, "in late April. We had a pop art show. We wanted to display the Thayer prominently."

"Then we should check the registration log for April," Peter decided, already pulling the log open. Nora peered over his shoulder.

"Probably looking for a student," she offered. "Talented, but still experimenting with technique."

He scanned the log quickly. "Someone like Justin Magary from Eastside University. He stopped by on the twenty-first of April at 1:45."

"That would be afternoon light."

They got the gallery's footage from 1:45 on April 21st and decided to pay Justin Magary a visit at Eastside. Peter glanced over at Nora as they walked through the well-kept campus, noting her pleasant smile. "What's that on your face?" he teased. "I haven't seen you this happy in a while."

She shrugged lightly. "You know, it's a beautiful day."

He saw right through her. "You're excited someone's copycatting you," he argued, coming to a stop.

Her smirk widened just a hair. "Imitation, flattery… you know what they say." He rolled his eyes.

She glanced over her shoulder, taking in the scene around her. "You ever been on a campus before?" he asked, remembering very suddenly her admission of never graduating high school.

"Not as a student."

He had, of course, done some digging since that conversation, unable to help himself. "And yet, you have three MBAs and two doctorates."

"Clearly something wrong with the system," she dismissed.

"Too bad you faked it," he joked, continuing toward the art building. "They could've made copies of you and filled up a sorority house."

"Oh," she teased, "do I detect a hint of bitterness, Agent Burke?"

He shrugged. "It's just, with my father's construction salary, I had to stick to the grindstone. Four years of advanced math on scholarship and then two years of accounting."

She giggled a little. "I still can't imagine you hunched over a desk with a little visor doing my taxes. You're lucky the FBI hires mathletes."

He sighed. "I was not a mathlete," he protested. "I was an athlete who was good at math."

"Yeah. We sorority girls call you 'nerds.'"

"So, why'd you forego school and go to New York?" he asked, not for the first time.

She shook her head, smirking just a little. "Sorry, we're here to interrogate someone else."

They found the art building easily enough and made their way to the class Justin Magary's schedule said he would be in. Peter was not prepared as he walked in to a nude model posing for the students. Face flushing, he spun around, trying his hardest not to look. Nora was completely unfazed.

She started meandering through the room, glancing at the student's drawings as she passed. Occasionally, she would nod in approval or scrunch her nose in distate.

"Peter," she said softly, drawing his attention away from the wall. Near the back of the room, she stood near a young man with a beautifully drawn recreation of the woman.

Peter cleared his throat. "Justin Magary?"

"Yes?" the young man said, brow furrowing.

"We need to talk to you."

"Why?"

Peter discreetly held up his badge and led Justin away from the rest of the students to speak a little bit more privately. "What do you know about Lewis Thayer's 'Untitled Number Two?'"

"Uh, nothing. I mean… I mean, I know it, of course."

"You ever painted one?" Nora asked.

"That's a good question," Peter agreed.

"I probably shouldn't say anything," Justin muttered.

"We've got you on camera sketching it at the Lampson Gallery in April," Peter said gently.

He fidgeted, glancing quickly between the two of them. "That's legal, right?"

"Not when three of your copies are fenced as the real thing." The color drained from his face. "That turns them into forgeries. Which is illegal."

"I can vouch for that," Nora offered.

"It's looking pretty bad for you, kid. If you talk to me, I can help you."

Scared, Justin agreed and they took him back to the bureau to answer some questions.

* * *

Nora couldn't help but feel for the kid as he fidgeted nervously in his seat, handcuffed and terrified. It seemed like forever ago, she was in a very similar position, though her crimes had been a lot more… well, a lot more _everything_. Deliberate, numerous, serious… Still, getting hauled in by the feds was never a fun time.

"A while ago," Justin explained, "I answered an ad in the school's list server for reproductions. I get an email back commissioning seven copies of 'Untitled Number Two.'"

"Seven?" Peter scoffed. "Did you wonder why somebody would want seven copies?"

"Do you know how hard it is to make money as an art student doing art?" Nora held back a laugh, finding that to be entirely too relatable.

"Who hired you?" Peter continued.

"I didn't meet them. They dropped the materials off in my mailbox. And once I finished, they said to leave the paintings in the rec center, and that the money would be left in my box again." Peter shot a glance at Nora. "I thought it was weird that they didn't want to meet-"

"So you stayed and watched the pickup," Nora guessed.

"Yeah. I wanted to make sure it was legit. And she seemed normal, so I let it go."

Peter nodded. "Alright, if you sat down with a sketch artist, do you think you could remember what she looked like?"

Justin pointed to his giant portfolio, which he had insisted come with him. "May I?"

"Yeah." Peter and Nora pulled it over to him and leafed through the pages for him.

"This is her," he said as they uncovered a masterful drawing of a beautiful woman. Now they just had to find out who she was.

* * *

"My fault?" Alex snapped. Nora was surprised to find her and Mozzie arguing at her kitchen table when she got home later that evening. At least it save Nora the trouble of convincing her to talk. "It's your fault."

"This never would have happened if you kept a lower profile," Mozzie shot back. "This is why I work in code." Alex threw her hands up in exasperation.

Nora stopped at the end of the table, glancing between the two of them. "Anything I can do?"

"I don't need your help," Alex dismissed.

"She needs your help," Mozzie argued.

Nora sighed. "Alex."

"Someone's looking for her," Mozzie added, earning a bitter look from Alex for ratting her out.

"Who?"

"She thinks it has something to do with the music box."

Nora's brow furrowed. "Why?"

"Well, she thinks-"

"Just let her talk," Nora snapped. He pouted, resting his chin on his hand.

"I don't know who," Alex explained, "but they've got a powerful reach and they've turned over a lot of stones."

Nora nodded soberly. "Alright, what can I do?"

Mozzie and Alex shared a look. Reluctantly, she dug through her bag and flipped Nora a large gold coin.

"Krugerrands?" Nora asked dryly.

"I needed the money to disappear," Alex insisted.

"I hooked her up with someone who deals in Krugerrands," Mozzie offered.

Alex nodded. "I've been fencing some in increments."

Nora glanced between the two of them, already over the whole situation. "Who's the guy?"

Neither spoke for a moment. "Russell Smith," Mozzie said. "Old friend from Detroit."

"Some friend," Alex snorted, scowling at Mozzie. "Russell found out someone's looking for me and now he's gonna sell me out." She rounded on Mozzie. "I need you to shut him up."

"Short of killing him, I'm open to ideas." Alex groaned in frustration.

"Alright," Nora sighed, shooting a pointed look at Mozzie before walking Alex to the door. "Give me some time. I'll figure something out." Alex didn't look too reassured. "You know I won't let anything happen to you."

She held up the Krugerrand. Alex stared at it for a moment before nodding stiffly and taking it back. "Thanks." Nora opened the door for her, then shut it softly behind her once she was through.

Scowling, she rounded back on Mozzie. "She comes to you and not to me?"

Mozzie shrugged, standing to join her by the door. "Far be it from me to act as therapist, but..." He wouldn't meet her eyes. "Maybe Alex doesn't want to see her friend heartbroken over Kyle. She didn't trust him, remember?"

Nora nodded, considering it for a moment. "Or, maybe it's the tracking anklet."

"Or, maybe it's the tracking anklet."


	18. The Syllabus

Chapter Eighteen

The Syllabus

Peter set Diana on the task of tracking down the girl from Justin's sketch early the next morning. She didn't take long to get back to him with her results. "Found our girl." She handed him a photo of a woman matching Justin's sketch to a tee. "Justin's got talent."

"If ever we're sort a sketch artist, I know who to call," he joked. "Who is she?"

"Veronica Naylon."

"Did she send the email?"

"Can't be sure," Diana admitted. "The account's defunct and the address was generic." Peter sighed. They couldn't make things easy for them. "Both the ad and email account were created at the school computer lab, so anyone could have done it." She passed him a file. "Here's her workup."

He thumbed through it quickly. "Junior. Majoring in archaeology. Mediocre grades. No priors." It didn't make sense. "How does the average twenty-one year-old student from the Upper East side pull this off?"

"You think she has accomplices," Diana guessed.

He scanned over her course list. "Maybe this is where she met them," he muttered. "She's an archaeology major, but she's currently acing a criminology class."

"The one class she's pulling an A."

"How appropriate."

Diana handed him another paper, smirking. "Well, if you like that, you'll love this. Syllabus for the class."

He glanced over it. And… of course. "Oh," he huffed. "She's gonna be impossible after this." Diana laughed. "Where's Nora?"

He pushed away from his desk, already dreading showing his already smug CI the syllabus. She sat quietly down at her desk, bent over a newspaper. As he approached, it took him a moment to realize she was snipping out the article about the Thayer theft.

"Oh, look at you," he groaned. "You'd think being copycatted was like winning the crime Oscar."

"I'm not allowed to revel?" It was an odd thing to revel in, though he supposed in Nora Caffrey world, it made perfect sense.

He sighed, letting it go. "Alright, take me through your version of this scam." She turned, now more interested in the conversation than her scrap-booking. "How many players are involved?"

She thought for a moment, tugging at a curl. "Well, you need a forger, a thief, and a couple fences."

"Not the kind of thing you'd pull off by yourself," he concluded.

"Not unless you can be in multiple places at once. I mean, it's a sophisticated job. I doubt Justin or our mystery girl thought of it themselves."

"No," he allowed, steeling himself for a more unbearable version of Nora that would soon be making her appearance, "but they might have figured it out by studying you." Her eyes grew wide, corners of her lips tugging up just a hair. "Our mystery girl, Veronica, she's acing a criminology class. Here's the syllabus." Reluctantly, he handed it over.

* * *

** Nora Caffery: Forger**, she read, barely even annoyed that they hadn't even bothered to spell her name correctly.

_A new breed of forger, technological virtuoso with a classical artistic foundation. Suspected of art forgery, theft of the Antioch manuscripts, and convicted of bond forgery. Caffery was suspected of hundreds of thefts before agent Burke of the FBI apprehended her. Her highly sophisticated schemes made it difficult for the FBI to follow her trail, along with her mastery of the arts made many of her crimes go unnoticed for years, long after the trail was cold._

_ She had a few accomplices, none on record, __most of the time choosing to work alone, keeping the number of people that could turn on her to near zero. It is estimated that she forged over 10.3 billion dollars of priceless antiquities. Never the wiser, the FBI pursued her for three years and finally caught her._

She looked up at Peter, eyes shining. "They spent a week on me?"

"Apparently, you're one of the interesting criminals of the twenty-first century."

"'A new breed of forger, technological virtuoso,'" she read aloud, grinning ear-to-ear. "Wow. 'With a classical artistic foundation.' They got it."

"Yeah, yeah," he huffed, forcing a smile. "I read it."

"Oh, they covered the Antioch manuscripts. Did you see that?"

"I know. Relax. They only covered you for a week. By the end of the year, they probably won't remember your name."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, obviously, a few of them will." He sighed, annoyed by her enthusiasm. "You think she formed a crew in this class?"

"People have been known to fall for a pretty face. If Veronica had help, I don't wanna scare them away by my talking to her just yet."

"Well, I can talk to her," Nora offered.

"Now you're reading my mind."

She raised an eyebrow. "Anklet?"

"I'll pull it for this one." He smirked. "You ready to go back to school?"

"I think I can handle that." He turned to walk away. "Because I'm a technological virtuoso."

"Okay," he sighed.

"With a classical artistic foundation," she called after him.

She could see his jaw tighten. "Yes, okay. Okay, read it to yourself. Quiet now."

She turned to the other agents milling around the bullpen. "Did you guys see this syllabus?"

Peter glared at her from the stairs. "We don't need to share."

"I'm in it," she continued, ignoring him.

"Yup," he huffed, retreating into his office. "Go, team."

* * *

Nora made her way to the campus the next morning in time for Veronica's criminology class with a spring in her step. She had enthusiastically shared the syllabus with Mozzie, who chastised her for the millionth time about not keeping a low-profile like he had. She ignored him. What was the fun in that?

She slipped silently with the students into the dim lecture hall, choosing a seat near the back, hoping she didn't stick out too much. She was almost ten years older than everyone else in the room, sans the professor, A man named George Oswald, who stood at a podium, lecturing about a famous heist.

"The Koechert Diamond Pearl was stolen by Gerald Blanchard in 1998," he explained. A projector displayed a picture of the diamond on the board behind him. "It took them a full two weeks to realize the jewel was missing, because Blanchard replaced it with a pretty darn good costume replica."

She pulled out a pen, one of the FBI's fancy recording pens, and turned it on. "He circumvented the alarms at the Viennese castle by parachuting onto the roof," he continued, "if you can believe it or not. Some people have called this the perfect crime."

"I wouldn't say he was perfect," Nora objected, breaking the silence in the wake of the professor's words. All eyes snapped back toward her, and the Oswald's brow furrowed. "Blanchard overshot his landing. He, uh, slipped on the tiles, but saved himself by grabbing a railing on the castle's roof. So, I'd say he looses marks for style."

She smirked up at him. "Excuse me," the professor said slowly, staring at her. "I believe… we have a celebrity in our midst." Nora smiled, feigning modesty. A low murmur filled the room as the student craned the necks to see who she was. "This is Miss Nora Caffrey. To what do we own the honor, miss?"

She shrugged lightly. "I understand you study the best criminals." She glanced around at the students. "I share that interest."

Professor Oswald laughed, and a few of the students joined in. Some looked at her with intrigue. A few with suspicion and discomfort, as if having one of the criminals they'd studied in such a close proximity was a scary prospect. Most just stared with idle curiosity.

She smiled up at the professor. "You… seem like a very capable teacher."

"Oh, please," he dismissed. "You know, you would be a far better… hey! Why don't you-? Could you come up here and answer some questions?"

"Oh, no," she protested lightly.

His eyes raked over the class. "Class, wouldn't you love to have Nora Caffrey up here teaching?" They clapped enthusiastically.

"Really?" she asked over the noise. "Really?"

"Come on," Oswald prompted. Graciously, she relented and stood and joined him at the front of the room. "We would love to have some of your expertise. Pleasure to have you." He shook her hand.

"Pleasure to be here." It wasn't a lie by any stretch of the imagination.

"Please," he said, stepping aside and gesturing to his podium. She took up his spot and turned to address the class.

"Alright," she said, leaning her elbows on the podium. "Well, we'll stick to the hypotheticals. And anything covered by the statute of limitations." That earned a low laugh from the crowd.  
"Who's first?" Nearly all the hands shot up in the air. This actually came as a surprise. "Oh! Wow. Alright."

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Oswald as he sat down in the front row and glanced over his shoulder to shoot a pointed look at one of the students. The student was a young man in a button down and glasses, who didn't seem as enthusiastic as his classmates.

She picked one of the students at random. "How about you?"

One by one, the class started bombarding her with questions. She was sure Peter would have a field day when he heard the recordings. He had been grumpy ever since handing her the syllabus, as if her excitement about the situation personally offended him. She didn't let him dampen her mood.

It didn't take long before someone brought up the Antioch manuscripts. She had a vague memory of admitting to that theft to Peter in her drug-addled state in the Howser Clinic, which he had been gracious enough to never bring up again. Though, she was reasonably sure a confession made under the effects of strong sedatives wouldn't be admissible in court, it would mean having to admit to breaking into private property and going through private medical records, so it was just better that he not mention it.

"In theory," she explained, "the carrier pigeons only delivered the vault combination. They didn't carry the manuscripts." This earned a chuckle. "Next question." A young man at the back of the room, who had been staring in some combination of disinterest and disdain, raised his hand.

"There's not much written about your arrest," he said. "How'd you get caught?"

Nora chose her words very carefully. "Momentary lapse in concentration," she decided.

"So the FBI had nothing to do with it?"

"Oh, they'd like to take credit for it," she joked, knowing Peter was going to just love it. "But essentially, I turned myself in." It honestly wasn't too far from the truth. She knew it had been a trap, she just didn't care. Mozzie accredited it to her ego, that she didn't believe the feds would possibly be able to catch her. Maybe he was right, maybe not. It hardly mattered.

The boy rolled his eyes, but seemed happy enough with the answer. The young man who had shared a look with Professor Oswald raised his hand. "Recently, you were suspected in the La Joyau diamond heist."

"Suspected," she said curtly, that question touching a sore spot, "and then cleared. I served my four years, and I decided I didn't want to go back. Been living like all you ever since then." She looked pointedly at Oswald. "Or trying to."

Oswald stood up. "Okay. Let's thank Miss Nora Caffrey." The class clapped, and she brushed them away. He returned to his spot at the podium. "Remember, everybody, read chapters twelve through fifteen of Lavelle for next week."

She studied the class as they gathered up their belongings, paying particular attention to Veronica. She shared a look with several of the other students. Notably, the boy who asked about her arrest and the boy who asked about the diamond heist.

Nora pretended to read the chalkboard as the class cleared out. "Thank you so much, Miss Caffrey," Oswald said, gathering up his papers.

"Oh, no."

He shook her hand again. "Fascinating."

"It's the least I could do." She shrugged, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "You know, I though I should participate in my own copyright infringement."

He paused, giving her a quizzical look. "Excuse me?"

She glanced over her shoulders, making sure the last of the students had left, and took a step closer to him. "It's a little green to rip off someone's con unless you improve it," she told him curtly. "You and your kids could use a little tutoring."

He stared at her blankly. "I'm sorry… I don't know what you're talking about."

She raised an eyebrow. "The Thayer theft?" A light bulb lit inside his head, and he laughed, turning away from her. "Hey, don't get me wrong, I'm flattered," she admitted. "But, uh, I'd like to be cut in, you know? I did lay the groundwork."

His smile faded. "Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm a professor who teaches crime. I don't go out there and commit them."

"Okay," she laughed, shooting him a knowing look before turning to leave.

"Miss Caffrey," he called after her. She turned back to him, expectant. "Um… I get together with a group of students after class."

She nodded. "You got some bright kids here."

"Yeah," he allowed, "there's a few of them. We go to a bar called the Globe around the corner. We'd be thrilled if you would join us."

"The Globe?"

"Yeah."

"I'll think about that," she agreed.

He stared at her for a moment. "I think you might find it interesting."

She grinned. "Have a great day."

"Thank you. And thanks again."

"Thank _you_."

* * *

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose as they listened to Nora's recordings. The students asked their questions and she gracefully skated around any sort of confession or incriminating statement. It got worse the longer it went on.

"So the FBI had nothing to do with it?" one of the students recapped after she explained that her arrest had been a mistake on her part rather than a triumph on theirs. Nora stood against the back wall, pursing her lips as she tried not to laugh.

"Oh," recording Nora scoffed, "they'd like to take credit for it." He glared at the computer screen. "But essentially, I turned myself in."

She rushed forward, stopping the playback. "I think we've heard enough."

His glare fell on her. "Suddenly, I don't feel bad about telling you this." Before hearing that, he had actually felt bad about what he'd learned. He could easily picture the look on her face, and even as annoying as she was, he didn't want to ruin the happiest he'd seen her in months. "You're not the only person they've been copying."

Her face fell. "What?" It was worse than he'd feared, like he'd kicked a little puppy.

Ignoring it, he plopped a file down in front of her. "Seems those who can, also teach. We cross-checked all of the crimes in Professor Oswald's syllabi since he started teaching ten years ago." She thumbed through the file, dejected.

"We suspect he counterfeited a bank note last year, forged an Emerson letter, and smuggled Egyptian artifacts," Diana chimed in.

She scowled at the file. "He copied Tokley-Perry?" Peter nodded. "Well, felony by proxy, you gotta give him credit."

Peter bit out a laugh. "We also think that he might've stolen Matisse's 'View of Saint Tropez.'"

"Matisse?" she mused. "That's a serious payday."

"Unfortunately, this is all speculation. Oswald is taking advantage of his students. And Justin is going to go down for this unless we can prove it wasn't him."

Nora worried her lip. "Well, we have one card left. We know about they Thayer. Oswald's hiding it somewhere."

"He's not going to give it up soon," Peter sighed. "Interpol found the fences who sold the forgeries abroad."

"They know they're being watched," Diana added. "They're out of play."

Nora nodded slowly. "So, he'll need a local fence."

Peter stared at her. Her eyes were faraway, troubled by something. "You have something in mind?" he prompted.

"Maybe… What's the FBI's policy for drinking on the job?"


	19. Slippery

Chapter Nineteen

Slippery

Nora sat with Professor Oswald's group of students at the Globe, entertaining them with slight-of-hand tricks, like turning a quarter into a twenty dollar bill. Veronica and Manny, the boy with glasses, laughed in awe at her tricks along with a few other students who crowded around her. Eric, the boy who'd asked about her arrest, stared with contempt as he shuffled a deck of cards. Nora guessed that those three were the inner circle of Professor Oswald's extra curricular activities.

"Good," Veronica praised. "Okay, show us something else."

She snagged one of the students' baseball caps off his head, ignoring his half-hearted protest. "Bet you another twenty I can drink this shot without touching that hat." She covered a shot glass with the hat after shaking it lightly to make sure there wasn't any hair or dander stuck in the top.

"You're on," Veronica challenged.

Nora stared intently at the hat, making a face before pretending to swallow something. "Done."

"You didn't drink it," Manny protested.

She stared him in the eyes. "Done."

Curious, Veronica lifted the hat. Before anyone could react, Nora grabbed the shot underneath and knocked it back. Veronica erupted in giggles as Manny huffed indignantly, "That's not fair!" Even Eric couldn't help but grin.

She gave him a patronizing look. "Oh, I didn't say it was fair. I said I could drink it without touching the hat."

Veronica tossed her hair back, aloof. "I'm only mildly impressed."

"This is all small-time," Eric huffed.

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh. You guys want something bigger?" No one said anything, all waiting with bated breath. "Manny, I think I saw a fifty in your wallet. Can I have it?"

His eyes widened. "Why?"

She rolled her eyes. "You're paying with hundreds, Manny. I don't think you'll miss it."

"Just give her the fifty," Veronica sighed. Eric nodded encouragingly. Manny reached into his pocket reluctantly. Worry flashed in his eyes as he started patting down the rest of them.

"Hey, where's my walle-?" Nora pulled it out of her purse, smiling smugly. He laughed, relief washing over him. "How did you do that?"

"Always make your lifts with two fingers," Nora advised, handing it back. "That way, you thumb doesn't bump up against the mark."

"Tell me something I don't know," Eric scoffed.

"And never," she continued, "_never_ think you're the smartest guy in the room." She flashed him a pointed look, watching his cocky smile fade. "Unless you're the smartest guy in the room." She noted his clumsy shuffling. "Oh, you wanna keep your place in that deck, keep the tip of your little finger in the brief."

"I think I know what I'm doing."

She held up the fifty from Manny's wallet. "Wanna put some money on that?"

"Hey!" Manny protested, riffling through his wallet.

Nora and Eric ignored him. "Sure. Who's the mark?"

Nora pretended to scan the crowed until her eyes fell on Alex sitting alone at the bar, just as she'd asked. "How about her?"

None the wiser, Eric stood up with confidence and the two made their way to the bar. Nora could feel the eyes of the rest of the students on them. "Hi, I'm Eric," he said, coming to a stop next to Alex. Alex raised her eyebrows at Nora, just slightly, before smiling at Eric.

"Alex," she introduced, shaking his hand. "Nice to meet you."

He splayed the cards in his hand and offered them out to her. "Alex, pick a card."

Playing along, Alex studied the deck. "This looks like fun." She plucked out a card at random.

"Just put it back on top and cut the deck for me, would you?" Eric instructed. She did as she was asked… almost. Nora watched as Alex palmed her card as she cut the deck, handing it back to Eric who hadn't spotted the lift. "Okay, now, the card I stop at is going to be yours."

Eric started flipping cards over on the bar one by one. Alex glanced back at Nora, who just shook her head. "She doesn't think it will be," Alex told him.

Eric smirked back at her. "She's wrong."

"Two hundred bucks says she's right." She started leafing through her purse.

Eric's eyes grew wide and he laughed nervously. "No, no… I can't take your money.

"Why not?" she challenged. "You can't make bets with girls?"

At a loss, he glanced between the two of them. Nora offered a shrug, and Eric pulled out his wallet. They each laid their money on the bar. Eric flipped over a few more cards, stopping on the nine of clubs. "And that's your card."

"And… no it's not."

Eric's brow furrowed. "Well, that was supposed to be your card." Nora fought back a smirk at just how naive he was. First of all, for letting a con artist chose the mark. Second, for taking someone at their word when two hundred bucks was on the line.

Alex tisked. "I guess she was right," she said, scooping up the money. "Sorry."

Alex jumped as someone snatched the money out of her hand. "I believe this is her card, Eric" Professor Oswald said, pulling a queen of diamonds out from under her purse. "She and Caffrey played you. She's her… uh, inside man, if you will."

"Nice catch," Alex begrudgingly admitted.

Nora sighed, turning toward the angry and embarrassed Eric. "Look, we weren't gonna take your money."

"Yeah, right," he spat.

"Check your pocket," Alex prompted. Oswald laughed as Eric pulled out two hundred dollars that hadn't been there before.

"I guess the lesson here is 'never con a con man.'"

"I think we all know what the lesson is for today, don't we, Eric?" Nora muttered.

"Yeah," he laughed. "I guess I'm not the smartest guy in the room." He sighed, and Nora clapped him on the shoulder as he returned to the table to join the other students.

"Congratulations," Oswald mused. "You humbled him. That's not easy to do." He offered his hand to Alex. "I'm Professor George Oswald."

"Alex Hunter," Nora supplied, earning a scowl from the woman.

"Hi," she greeted, voice tight.

"What do you do, besides card tricks?" Oswald asked.

Nora jumped in before Alex had the chance to lie. "She's in the moving business."

"Ah." Oswald nodded knowingly. "Well, nice to meet you. If you wanna join us for a drink, the next round is on Eric. Nice to meet you." He excused himself to the table.

"Be right there," Nora called after him.

When she turned around, Alex was glaring at her again. Without a word, she hopped off her chair and shoved past Nora toward the door. "Hey, hey, hey," Nora called, running after her. Alex was practically blowing steam out of her ears by the time Nora snagged her wrist. "Thank you for backing me up in there."

"Mozzie tells me to come to the bar because you have a plan," she hissed. "And now, I'm out two hundred bucks and you're dropping my name."

"Do you trust me?"

"No."

"Hurtful."

Alex rolled her eyes. "Okay, I assume we're doing more than baiting frat boys with bar tricks." Nora peered through the window at the group, who was listening intently to Professor Oswald. "What's with the 'Dead Poet's Society' in there?"

"You know, it's my current case," Nora dismissed. "And the solution to your problem."

Alex blinked blankly and drew in a calming breath. "Russell wants to meet on Sunday and fence the rest of the Krugerrands, but it's a setup. He's gonna sell me out to whoever put the price on my head, and your plan is to bring the feds into it?"

"I tell the FBI that Oswald and his kids are gonna steal the Krugerrands," Nora explained patiently. "They'll pull Russell in to talk to him. It'll kill his reputation. No one will be buying information off of him if they think he's in bed with the bureau."

Alex stared at her blankly. "You're crazy."

"It'll work."

"You're crazy."

Nora crossed her arms. "Are you in or are you out?" Alex glanced back at the group in the bar. Oswald was watching them with interest, still holding the attention of his students.

With no other option, Alex sighed. "I'm in."

* * *

"The kids do the legwork," Nora recapped the next morning. "Oswald fences the goods and kicks them back a share of the profit. If the kids get caught-"

"Oswald can sell them out," Peter concluded.

"Yeah. He'll say he was teaching a class and they took it too far."

"He's more slippery than you are," Diana teased.

"Thank you."

"You think you can get him to reveal the painting?" Peter asked.

"I dunno," Nora admitted. "They spent the night talking about the next best heist."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Which way are they leaning?"

She shrugged. "Everything from diamond heists, to stealing boats. But I think we can choose for them."

"How so?" Jones asked.

She plopped down in a chair across from them, leaning forward after a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure no one else was listening in. "I happen to know a petty crook who's moving Krugerrands on Sunday."

Peter stared at her. "_Gold_ Krugerrands?" He rolled his eyes. "Of course you do."

"His name is Russell Smith."

Jones started typing on the laptop in front of him. "Bingo." He read Smith's file quickly before spinning it around for Peter and Nora to see. "Racketeering, extortion, robbery."

"And I don't like him," Nora added. Better she sound petty than Peter suspect she had some more serious motive for wanting him taken out of play. Still, he shot her a hard look. "We intercept Russell with the Krugerrands. Send Jones down the street with the coins and I get the kids to steal them from him instead."

Diana nodded, considering this. "We can watch them, follow the case back to Oswald."

"Tell me more about this guy," Peter prompted, still suspicious of her intentions. "How do you know him?"

"He's the friend of a friend," she dodged.

"Mozzie." She didn't answer.

"You can convince Oswald and the kids to go after him?" Diana continued.

Nora grinned. "I can still be slippery." Peter laughed under his breath. "I'll get them to convince me."


	20. Krugerrands

Chapter Twenty

Krugerrands

Oswald invited Nora to join him and his three star pupils for lunch on campus. They sat and hypothetically discussed various heists. "If jewels are the target," he prompted, "what are the challenges of extraction and export?"

"How do we buy enough time to get the jewels out of the country?" Veronica answered. Oswald motioned for them to keep going.

"I'd be cool to pull a Blanchard," Eric mused. "Buy a replica the day before and replace it with the real thing."

"We could tunnel," Manny suggested, much to Veronica's amusement.

Nora scrunched her nose. "I'm not really big on shovels, Manny." Right on time, Nora spied Alex heading their way. "Could you excuse me?"

"Everything is all set, okay?" Alex practically shouted as Nora headed toward her, ensuring they had a captivated audience. "You can't back out now."

Nora tried to pull her away. "Okay, look, keep your voice down, okay? He saw me. It's over."

"You can't walk away," Alex protested. "I already have a buyer."

Nora crossed her arms. "Then get someone else to make the grab, or tell your buyer to back off."

Alex matched Nora's pose. "So, I'm out a ton of money because _you _made a stupid mistake and got spotted?"

"I don't know what you expect me to do about it now."

"You know, thanks for nothing," Alex spat.

Nora dropped her voice down low so the onlookers couldn't hear. "Alright, that's great, now walk away."

"Can I slap you?" Nora furrowed her brow, and before she could respond, Alex struck. Stars dotted her vision as her head snapped to the side. Alex stormed off, leaving Nora scowling after her and rubbing her sore cheek. _And everyone says _I'm _overdramatic_, she fumed, turning back to the table. The kids were muttering among themselves.

"Sorry about that, you guys," she dismissed lightly. "That's a little awkward."

"Interesting friends you keep," Oswald noted.

"Oh, yeah, we have a history. You know, we just… We don't work well together."

"Sounded like a certain job went awry," he mused.

Nora feigned innocence. "I'm reformed, remember?"

"Yes, of course." He glanced at the students, eyes knowing. "Alright, listen, I have a class to teach, so why don't you keep brainstorming. And, remember, in this theoretical discussion, there is no better teacher than this woman here." He clapped Nora on the shoulder as he passed. "Alright? See you all later."

Veronica studied Nora for a moment. "You know, you can tell us. What's your history?"

"Just an old friend."

"Sounds like she has a job for you," Eric pitched in, "but you went and got spotted by the target?"

"Oh, you heard all that from over here?" Nora asked sheepishly, smoothing down her hair as it fluttered in the breeze. "She can be a little loud. Nah, look, guys. It's just a melon drop, okay?" They all exchanged a look. "I'd tell you, but you'd say it was small-time."

"Well, what's the take?" Veronica asked, grinning.

"Krugerrands." This was met with blank looks. "Gold." And just like that, she knew she had them hook, line, and sinker.

* * *

Sunday came quickly. With the weather warming up, Nora – now temporarily anklet free – opted to wear a skirt and blouse. They had the perfect ruse set up, and Peter milled about anxiously as they waited. "Are you sure the kids will be there?" he asked for the hundredth time.

"Yeah, they'll be there," she insisted, fidgeting with a book from the vendor stand they stood by. "They think this is gonna be the easiest score they ever pulled."

"Oswald better show."

"He will." He wasn't so convinced. With a sigh, she dropped her book and turned to him. "The kids get me the Krugerrands, I drop them in the locker. And Oswald delivers them to his fence."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

Peter put a finger to his earpiece, listening. "Our courier has arrived." They moved to their places. Nora watched from the sidelines as Peter marched up to Russell and flashed his badge. "Russell Smith. FBI."

"Feds? I didn't do anything." He spun around, only to come face-to-face with Jones.

"I need you to come with me," Peter said firmly. Peter grabbed Russell by the bicep and led him away. As they passed, he spotted Nora, and pieces started falling into place in his mind. She gave a small shrug.

Back in the van, Peter opened the case. It was lined with rows of glittering gold coins. "Krugerrands," Peter mused. "Where'd you get these?"

"They fell off a truck," Smith said dryly. "I wanna talk to my lawyer."

"Of course," Peter scoffed. "What honest man doesn't?" He motioned for an agent to lead Smith away. With a pointed look at Nora, he passed the case of coins to her, and she handed them off to Jones. "You ready for this?"

"Born ready," Jones assured him. He left the van and got into place. The kids had in fact, shown up and were waiting in their positions for their mark.

* * *

Peter and Diana watched the camera feed from the van while Jones and Nora got into position. As Nora had assured them, Veronica, Manny, Eric were waiting right where they were instructed to. Jones started walking with Smith's case in hand. They watched as he collided with Eric, sending the boy's grocery bag to the ground and the contents spilling out over the sidewalk.

Jones sat the case on the ground as he argued with Eric, who pretended to accuse Jones of stealing his groceries. Veronica stepped in to try and 'calm the situation,' while Manny swooped in and swapped the case with an identical one. With the switch made, Jones backed off, acting like nothing had happened.

"Jones deserves an Oscar," Peter joked, switching the feed to the camera on Nora. She idled by a vendor's stand, keeping an eye out discreetly for Manny. "Manny's approaching the drop," Diana noted. Nora, too, had noticed, and headed casually toward him, massive satchel in hand.

Manny sat the case down as he pretended to inspect a vendor's wares. In one fluid motion, Nora engulfed the case in her enormous satchel and scooped it up, leaving none of the passers-by any the wiser.

"Smooth," Peter mused. "Glad she's on our side." He spun around and held up his walkie. "Caffrey's headed toward the lockers."

The monitor behind them showed the feed for the lockers. A moment later, Nora appeared on the screen and stopped in front of the agreed upon locker. She started dialing the combination as Jones climbed back into the van. "How's it going?" he asked.

"So far, so good," Diana allowed. "You're a convincing mark."

"Wait 'til they find out what I do for a living," he joked. On the screen, Nora popped open the locker and slid the case inside. "Should we take the kids in?"

"Not yet," Peter decided. "I don't want to spook Oswald. We wait."

And wait they did. Long after Nora returned to the van. Long after darkness fell over the city. They waited, but nothing happened on the screen.

Somehow, Nora, impatient as ever, got a hold of Peter's handcuffs. Their soft clicks seemed especially loud in the confined space as she played with them, locking them tighter and tighter around the air. Frustrated, Diana snatched them away from her without a word.

It was silent for about three seconds. "You guys should invest in some of those little Christmas tree air fresheners," Nora told Peter softly.

"You don't like the van," Peter huffed. "Noted."

She fell silent. A moment later, Jones climbed in once more, the most exciting thing that had happened in hours.

"Peter," Jones called, lowering his cellphone. "Can I talk to you?" Peter squeezed past Nora and Diana to join him at the other end. "We took Russell back to the bureau. He didn't call his lawyer."

"Who'd he call?" Peter asked, bemused.

Jones pressed his phone to his ear. "Play it," he told the person on the other end before handing it off to Peter.

Peter listened in disbelief. "Nora." She didn't respond. "Nora."

"What? I didn't do anything."

"Explain this," he hissed. "Play it." He switched the phone to speaker and let the message play out.

"I'm not working with the FBI," Russell's voice said from the phone. "They got me with the case. What was I supposed to do? Tell them I can still get them Alex Hunter, but they gotta post bail."

Nora at least had the decency to look sheepish. "Why is Russell talking about Alex Hunter?" Peter demanded.

"Do you know who he was talking to?"

"It went to a burner phone," Jones explained.

"Answer my question," Peter snapped.

She licked her lips. "Alex is in trouble," she admitted.

Peter huffed out a sigh. "Alex is back. Damn it, Nora. I can't let my guard down for one day, can I?" He glared at her as she shrank back ever so slightly in her seat, blue eyes wide and troubled. "You used us to take Russell out of play. If you jeopardized this case-"

"I didn't, Peter," she huffed.

"Diana?"

"It's eight o'clock," she sighed, shaking her head. "I don't think Oswald's gonna show."

Peter ended the call and tossed the phone down on the table. "Yeah, I guess he conned all of us."

Nora's eyes fell on the screen, and she sat up, staring at it intently. "Check the locker."

"Why?"

"Check it," she repeated, standing and slipping past him.

They filed out behind her and made their way inside. Jones opened the locker quickly. "The case isn't here," he announced.

"Damn it," Peter hissed, pacing away. As frustrated as he was at Nora, the case being gone clearly wasn't her fault. "Did we ever lose visual on the locker?"

"No," Diana insisted.

"Then how'd he get the bag?"

Nora was staring at the locker with narrowed eyes, twirling a curl absently. After a moment, she crouched down in front of the locker, running her fingers along the back. With a firm yank, a panel cut out of the back pulled free, revealing a storage closet on the other side.

"He was here the entire time," she muttered, shoulder slumped. She stood, leaning against the locker.

"So help me," he warned, "if this was part of your plan-"

"It wasn't," she snapped, rounding on him. "Oswald improved my con."

He met her eyes evenly. "Then you better figure out how to catch him."

* * *

Nora made her way home, where Mozzie was waiting with a glass of wine. She changed her clothes, venting her annoyance to him from the closet. He offered sympathetic 'hmm's and 'yeah's from the chair by the coffee table, letting her just run it out of her system.

By the time Peter arrived, she had calmed down. She let him in without a word. He groaned upon spying Mozzie. "Why is he here? I asked for Alex."

"Understandably, my client does not trust the FBI," Mozzie chimed, not looking at Peter. "She has asked her lawyer to preside in her absence." With that, he stood, sipping on his glass of wine.

Peter smiled bitterly. "Nice little practice you got going."

"I do alright."

"Helps when your friends with criminals."

Peter shot Nora a hard look. "Thanks to you two, I got a pound of shrapnel in my ass from today's misfire." Nora wouldn't meet his gaze, just sulked by the door. "Tell me why you really put us on to Russell. And it better be good."

Nora and Mozzie shared a look, neither speaking for a moment. "Someone's looking for Alex," Nora finally said. Peter took a deep breath, and Nora took that as it meeting his standard of 'good.' "Russell said he could deliver her, and we took him out of play before he could."

She paced over to the coffee table and sat down heavily. "Who's looking for her?" Peter asked.

"Probably the same people who killed Kyle." He sighed heavily, turning away from her. "If Oswald has the coins, he'll try and fence them eventually."

Forcing himself to be calm, Peter nodded. "That's what I'm counting on. And you're gonna help make that happen. We're gonna make Oswald reveal the Krugerrands and the painting."

"Well, how?" Mozzie asked.

"Those coins belong to someone who probably wants them back, right?" They nodded. "Tell me who."

Nora pursed her lips, glancing up at Mozzie. "Um…" he muttered, uncomfortable now that it was his turn in the hot seat. "Russell may… or may _not_ be an old connection from Detroit." Peter raised an eyebrow, confused. Nora urged Mozzie on silently. "… Of the Don Corleone persuasion."

"The Detroit mob?" Peter huffed, exasperated.

"Yeah," Nora confirmed quietly.

Peter was too over it to be mad. "Alright, I'm gonna have to convince Oswald I'm in with them."

"What if he recognizes you?" Nora asked.

"He won't. Unlike you, the bureau makes sure my picture doesn't get in the paper." She nodded. "He knows you," he said, motioning to Nora before turning to Mozzie. "You, I don't trust. So..."

"Impossible," Mozzie protested. "He studies crime for a living. You'd need an expert on the Detroit mob to pull that off-" Nora glanced up at him, and he froze, realizing what he'd just said. "Oh."

Peter grinned. "I just found my expert."


	21. The Peacemaker

Chapter Twenty-One

The Peacemaker

It wasn't hard for Peter to get into character. He was still fuming about Nora's using them. After spending entirely too much time getting pointers from Mozzie, who sat with Nora and Jones in the van to feed Peter lines through an earpiece, Peter felt confident in his role as a member of the Detroit mob.

The lecture hall was still dim from Oswald's lecture. A photo of a Krugerrand was projected on the board behind him. How appropriate.

Peter used the darkness to his advantage as he made his dramatic entrance, drawing open the blinds in the back of the room to flood it with midday light. Oswald spun around at the sudden brightness, shielding his eyes as he squinted up at Peter. "Hello? Can I help you?"

"You took something of mine."

"Is that so?"

"Tell him you're the peacemaker," Mozzie advised in his ear. "That's an old Detroit player. Do it."

"I'm the peacemaker," Peter said.

Oswald hesitated, glancing around nervously. "Well, I don't recall starting any wars. I'm sure this is a misunderstanding."

"You stole my Krugerrands and I want them back," Peter said flatly.

"Kru… Kru..." Oswald glanced over his shoulder at the giant picture shining brightly. "Listen, I don't have time for jokes," he spat and turned to leave.

"Okay." Peter pulled an unloaded gun and pointed it at Oswald. The man stopped dead in his tracks.

"When it's a matter of our missing money," Mozzie buzzed, "I never joke."

"I never joke," Peter said simply. On cue, the projector's image changed, showing photos from the students' job. "This picture tells a story, Professor."

"I don't see myself in that story."

"No," Peter allowed, "but you see the case. And now you've got it."

"Tell him you'll cut off his hands if he doesn't pay up," Mozzie instructed.

"What?" he faintly heard Jones mutter in the background.

"It's the Detroit mob," Mozzie snapped, "not the Girl Scouts."

Peter rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't want anything to happen to your hands, Professor." The man's eyes grew wide.

"I said, 'cut off his hands,'" Mozzie huffed.

"Quiet, Moz," Nora shushed softly.

Peter's act was getting to the Professor. "Alright, listen, listen. If you're the peacemaker, I'm sure we can find some common ground."

"The Krugerrands were worth two million. I want three for my trouble."

"Well, that's simply not possible," Oswald protested.

Peter stared at him. "Make it possible. Deliver it tomorrow."

"Or I'll start with your thumbs," Mozzie added.

Peter's lips twitched as he fought back a laugh. "Or I'll start… with your thumbs."

The man scurried out, and Peter decided that making a grown man nearly wet his pants was a very effective way of venting his frustrations at his unruly CI. He joined them back in the van, and was greeted with compliments of his chilling performance. Even Mozzie begrudgingly admitted that it was convincing.

All that was left was for Oswald to make his move, then they could take him down.

* * *

They waited for Alex to give the signal. She haggled with Oswald for a few minutes over the Krugerrands. And, finally, he flashed the Thayer. After a bit more bartering, it seemed they had struck a deal. Alex shook his hand.

At that cue, Jones led the way into the bar. "FBI!" Surprised patrons wheeled around, confused and enamored by the spectacle. "Hands on the table," he ordered. "Hands on the table." He complied, and Alex played along. "George Oswald, you're under arrest."

"No..." Oswald muttered as Jones hauled him up and cuffed him, staring at Peter like he'd seen a ghost. "No."

"Good to see you again, Professor," Peter teased. Jones started leading him out. "Careful with his hands."

"I wanna see my lawyer!"

Alex stood to meet Peter. "Thank you, Miss Hunter," he said graciously, picking up the case of Krugerrands.

"I believe you've been looking for this," she mused, handing over the Thayer.

He tucked it under his arm and dug through his jacket pocket. "Per Nora's suggestion, we booked you on a secured flight to Italy," he explained, pressing the plane ticket into her hand. "And we made sure we publicly thanked Russell for his thoughtful and continued cooperation with the FBI."

She smirked, eyes full of relief. "Nora said you were the best." That was certainly a surprise to Peter. Alex stood on her toes and gave Peter a quick peck on the cheek before making her exit.

He unrolled the Thayer, glancing over it for a moment before turning to watch her leave. _I really don't understand these women_.

* * *

With Oswald taken down, all that remained was the students. Peter waited for their class to begin. Nora watched from the doorway for a moment while Peter addressed the class. "Hello, everyone. Your professor, George Oswald, will not be joining you today. Instead, I'm here as a recruiter for the FBI." Manny, Eric, and Veronica shifted in their seats. "Hi, I'm Special Agent Peter Burke."

Agents filed in past Nora. "And these are some of my colleagues," he continued. "They studied criminology just like you, and now they get to catch bad guys for a living." Nora followed the last agent in, leaning against the wall. The agents made their way through the rows of chairs, arresting the three students. An excited buzz filled the room.

"Guys, stay calm," Eric advised.

Manny, however, cracked under the pressure. "Professor Oswald, he made us do it," he protested, trying to pull free from Jones' grasp. Jones hauled him up roughly.

"Good job, Manny," Veronica spat, "way to stay calm."

"Veronica, let me handle this," Manny insisted. He continued trying to explain away the situation, but to no avail.

Peter spoke over the chatter. "You think it's fun reading about these guys, wait until you experience the feeling of catching them."

Nora chimed in. "For the record, I still maintain that I basically turned myself in."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "The full weight of the FBI was bearing down on you," he reminded her. She rolled her eyes.

Peter turned back to the class. "I wear a badge." He swept back his jacket to show it off. "She wears a tracking anklet. Applications are on the table." He dropped them pointedly and the two of them left the rest of the students with one hell of a story to tell their friends.

Outside, the agents were putting the students into cars. Manny was still babbling away about how it was a misunderstanding and that he had information, while the other two were yelling at him to shut his mouth.

"DA's dream," Peter joked. "Tripping over themselves to cut a deal. They're young. We'll probably give it to them."

"Look at us," Nora mused. "Saving America's youth from a life of crime."

"Yeah," he laughed, "we're a regular after-school special." Peter's phone started ringing. "One second." He stepped away to answer it. "Diana."

Nora watched, unable to piece together what the conversation was about. They talked for a moment before Peter hung up and returned back to her. "Everything alright?" she asked.

"Yeah, just work stuff."

"Work stuff," Nora repeated dryly, not really believing it. "Right."

* * *

Peter met Diana at her apartment. She said she'd found something interesting about the box and wanted to get his opinion on it. She pulled it out from wherever she had it hiding and brought it out for him to see. "At first, I thought one of the cherubs had broken off. But take a look."

She handed Peter a flashlight and he studied the spot with the missing cherub. "Narrow tunnel with a slight ridge," he noted. "There's something there."

Curious, he lifted the lid. The familiar tune started playing. He couldn't make sense of it. What was so important about the box that it was worth holding someone hostage for nearly a year, worth _killing_ for? Sure, it would probably fetch a hefty sum if sold to the right buyer, but not nearly enough to justify all the trouble it's caused.

"Whatever this thing's hiding, it's not the music," Diana sighed.

Peter examined the hole again. "I think it's a keyhole."

"A key to what?" He just shrugged. "Could we get it into X-ray?"

"Not without alerting somebody. I don't wanna take a hammer to it just yet."

"Hm, it could self-destruct," she joked.

"Wouldn't surprise me."

Peter sighed. "Let's see if we can find that missing piece." He picked up the picture of their patchwork man. "Maybe our friend knows where it is."

* * *

Nora caught up with Alex as she was loading her luggage into a taxi. "Leaving so soon?" she called.

Alex spun around and smirked. "Venice is calling." She turned back around as a bellhop started to put a thin wooden box in the truck. "Oh, you know what? I'm gonna actually keep that up here with me."

Nora opened the door helpfully and the bellhop slid the box inside. "You know, it's interesting," Nora mused. "We searched Oswald's house and found several of the things he was suspected of stealing. Jewelry, Egyptian artifacts." Nora narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "But there was a Matisse."

"Matisse…?" Alex mused. "Hmm."

"Mm-hmm. It was rumored Oswald had it, but it wasn't at his house."

Alex shrugged. "That's a shame. Be worth a fortune."

They both knew she wasn't fooling anyone. "Yes, it would," Nora laughed. "It's about the size of your box there."

"I'll keep an eye out," she offered. "I could use the reward money."

"I'm sure you could." They stared at each other for a moment before smiling. It was kind of like old times again.

"Goodbye, Nora."

"Alex. Be careful."

Alex nodded slowly. "You too. If someone's looking for me-"

"They're coming after me, too," Nora concluded. She'd already considered that possibility. _Let them come_.

Alex licked her lips, thinking for a moment before digging in her purse. Her hand returned with a small gold cherub. "That's the last piece of the music box," she explained. Nora stared at it blankly, and Alex grabbed her hand impatiently, pressing it into her palm. "I'm giving up my obsession."

"You're suggesting I give up mine?"

"Kyle's gone," Alex said gently. "The rest of us are still here." Nora couldn't find words to respond to that. After a moment's hesitation, Alex leaned forward and gave Nora a quick hug.

"Bye, Alex."

Alex climbed in the taxi, and Nora shut the door behind her, watching as the car pulled out into the crowded city traffic. With a sigh, she turned the cherub over in her hands. A smile spread over her lips. _Now, all I need is the box_.


	22. Gina

Chapter Twenty-Two

Gina

Mozzie met up with Nora as she made her way to work. It was a beautiful day. Summer was slowly, but surely returning to the city, the weather growing steadily warmer. She shot Mozzie a quizzical look while they walked. "You're wearing an ascot," she noted.

"You know, the Duke of Windsor considered an ascot to be elegant morning-wear."

"Great," she allowed, "if this were 1874. Or your about to open that Shackleton brandy you intercepted."

"I'm not allowed to look debonair?" he shot back.

She laughed, coming to a stop at an intersection to wait for the light. "On your way to undercut that antiques dealer?" He pointedly ignored her jab. "Making your bookie pay for tea at the Carlyle?"

"You know, _this_," he huffed, "what you're doing, projecting your boredom with your humdrum nine-to-five existence onto my day, where I am free to color outside the lines as I choose."

She smirked as he ranted. "Don't let me stop you, Picasso."

They reached the other side of the street. "If you'll excuse me, I have somewhere important to be." He went off on his own direction, leaving her amused at just how strange he could be at times. Strange but lovable.

The moment she got to the office, it was nose to the grindstone time as they wrapped up yet another case. They sat working for what felt like forever. In reality, only a few hours passed. "Good work, everyone," Peter called from the back of the conference room. "We're closing in. Whoever cracks this identity-theft ring on the Upper East side wins this:" He held up a pen. "My Quantico pen. They don't make 'em like this anymore."

_I want that pen_.

"The victims all used their credit cards at a silent auction last month," Diana pointed out. "Check the list of people who worked the event."

"Produce, dry-cleaning, gyms, all set up on monthly account," Jones offered. "Maybe someone got in this way."

Nora studied her file as she leaned against the wall. "Well, it's written all over their faces." All eyes snapped to her, confused. "What? They share a dermatologist. Someone from the office is selling patient information." She paced over to the table, leaning on it. "I want that pen."

"Blake, run indices on all these," Peter ordered, "starting with Dr. Botox and his office staff. When I get back from lunch with Elizabeth, let's see who gets this pen."

She decided to head out for lunch. As she stepped into the elevator, her phone pinged with a text message. She read it, confused as to why an unknown number was instructing her to go to the twentieth floor. Curiosity getting the best of her, she pressed the 20 button.

She stared, mouth slightly agape as Mozzie rushed in as soon as the doors slid open. He had forgone the ascot and now donned a trench coat, black hat, and sunglasses. "Mozzie, what are you-?"

"No names," he hissed, running his hand over every button.

"What are you doing in a federal building dressed like Truman Capote?" He wedged himself into the corner, as far out of the camera's view as possible. "You wanna explain why you're here?"

"I have a friend in need."

Nora's brow furrowed. "Girl from the diner?"

"You know about Gina?" The elevator slowed to a stop. Mozzie spun around as the doors slid open. "No, no, no," he snapped at the people waiting, pressing the door close button.

"Sorry," Nora apologized over his shoulder. She fixed him with a hard gaze, crossing her arms. "Yes, I know about the girl from the diner. What I don't know is why you wore an ascot to meet with her."

"Oh, Gina likes orange," he said dreamily. Then his face grew grim. "And she's in trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

"The serious kind. These two guys came into the diner. Gina got really nervous and told me to read a book."

"Wow," Nora said dryly, "that's definitely cause for alarm."

"Nora, it was 'Snap of the Twig,' and she knows I already read it."

"That's your proof?" Sometimes, his paranoia was a bit much to handle, even for her.

"You sound like the suit," he huffed in exasperation. Nora rolled her eyes. "Right before she walked out the door of the diner, she asked me if I knew anyone in the FBI."

The door slid open once again. "Oh," Mozzie exclaimed, spinning around to the people before they could step in. "My friend is very claustrophobic." Nora screwed up her face, playing along, and pressed her back against the wall. "She could get violent." He turned back to her as the door started closing. "It's okay. It's okay."

"Don't get near me," she warned. As soon as they started moving again, Nora dropped the act. "Look, let's give it twenty-four hours. If she-"

"We might not have twenty-four hours," he protested. "Do you know what the plot of 'Snap of the Twig' is?" She shook her head. "It's about a girl who gets in too deep and ends up being kidnapped. She said she really got caught up in it."

Once again, the elevator stopped and the doors opened. "Do you guys smell that?" Mozzie asked.

Nora sniffed the air. "Is that burning insulation?" They froze in their tracks.

"Sometimes these things can just..." He pantomimed an elevator plummeting down its shaft. Nora pitched in with a cartoon whistle and explosion sound. They fled and the elevator continued down. "Gina was trying to send me a message. It was a cry for help."

"This isn't the kind of case Peter normally handles," Nora objected, "if it's even a case."

"They owe me, Nora." She sighed. There was genuine concern in his voice, more than just his overblown paranoia. "I've never even asked for one favor before."

"Okay. I'll look into it. Can you give me Gina's last name?"

"Oh, and then some," he said, handing her a file from his satchel.

She thumbed through it as the elevator stopped once again. No one was waiting on the other side. "This is a little creepy."

"Oh, that's nothing." He darted out before she could get another word out.

_Well, guess I'm skipping lunch_, she grumbled, pressing the button for the twenty-first floor. She stepped out, coming face-to-face with a very unhappy Peter, as well as about half a dozen other grumpy agents. She stared at them for a moment, bemused. "You guys do know we have stairs, right?"

She pushed past them before anyone could say anything, leaving them to pile into the elevator she and Mozzie had hogged for entirely too long.

The new guy, Blake, was still working diligently at his desk. "How's your first week going?" she asked with a cheerful smile.

He chuckled. "Better than Harvard and Quantico combined. Psyched to be on Agent Burke's team. Guy's a legend."

"He is," she allowed. "By the way, I got a name to add to that list he gave you: Gina DeStefano." She stuck a post-it note to his computer monitor.

"I'll run it right after lunch," he agreed.

"Any way you could run it now?" she asked hopefully, flashing the puppy eyes. He shifted uncomfortably. Of course, Peter had given him the standard Nora Caffrey warning when he joined the team. She changed gears a little. "Turns out to be the one, you get that pen."

He paused. "I get the pen?"

"Yeah. Come on." Excited by the prospect, he got to work. She rounded his desk to watch over his shoulder.

"Here's her phone record," he muttered as he pulled it up on the screen.

"Interesting… Gina makes a couple calls from the cell phone at the same time every day." Blake pulled up another tab. "Text, too. But not today. It all stops at 9:15."

He nodded, pulling up more information. "Banks… credit cards."

"No ATM withdrawals, the cards are quiet."

"Does this woman work for the dermatologist?"

Nora smiled at him. "I like the way you think." She patted him on the shoulder, waved goodbye, and headed back for the elevator.

She met up with Mozzie to report what she'd learned. It certainly didn't help his worry. They headed toward the address Nora had seen when Blake pulled up her information. "Gina's been taken. I just know it."

"Maybe she's sick in bed," Nora offered, trying to comfort him.

"No one goes off the grid like this."

"How'd you make a file on her and not get her address?" she wondered.

"You know, I don't just go around looking up people," he snapped. "I'm not some kind of a stalker." Nora came to a stop, raising an eyebrow at him. After looking through his file, she wasn't so sure. "She's unlisted. There is a line, Nora."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, the FBI crossed it for you."

He turned, and the two of them stared at the building Gina called home. "Now what do we do?"

"You could knock," she said flatly.

"I can't knock. She's unlisted. How do I explain how I found her?" _Sure, that's the problem here_.

"Then I'll do it. I'll tell her I'm looking for the last tenant."

She started for the door, but Mozzie grabbed her by the sleeve and pulled her back. "Don't."

"She doesn't know who I am," Nora argued.

"Do you ever wonder why you haven't been introduced?" She raised an eyebrow. "She meets you, and suddenly I'm the creepy bald guy trying to seduce multiple beautiful women."

"I think you're overthinking things, Moz." He ignored her. "Okay, then what do you suggest?"

He considered it for a moment before darting toward her door. He knocked on it quickly. "There you go." Then he ran back. "What are you-?" He grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her to the wall to hide out of sight. "Oh, my God. This is really mature."

They waited a moment, but the door didn't open. Mozzie pulled a stethoscope from his bag and used it to listen at the door. "Anything?" she asked.

"This does not bode well," he decided. He pulled something else from his bag. "Peephole reverser." He peered inside. "Her place is trashed. Oh, God, we gotta get in there."

She drew in a deep breath. "Alright. You better start thinking of ways to convince Peter this falls under exigent circumstances," she hissed, pulling a set of lock picks from her purse. _Of all the stupid ways to get my ass sent back to prison…_

* * *

Peter couldn't get the whole thing with the elevator out of his mind as he ate with El. Something about it was just… off. El noticed how distracted he was. "Bite. Chew three times. Swallow. Think," she muttered. "Honey, you're either having a gastronomical epiphany, or it's a case."

"It's Nora," he admitted. "There was this thing with the elevator."

"Thing?"

"When she stepped off, she was shifty."

She took a sip of her drink. "Uh-oh. I know how you are with shifty."

"No..." He sighed. "You know what? You're right. You're right. Enough about Nora. This is our last lunch together for a week."

She picked at her food. "You gonna survive without me?" she teased.

He shot her a pointed look. "Did you forget I did a lot of cooking when we first met?"

"Yeah," she scoffed. "I have the takeout menus in the top drawer."

He smiled. "That's what I love about you." His phone started ringing. "Oh, sorry, honey."

"That's okay."

"Agent Blake," he greeted, "don't you eat lunch?" The new guy was a hard worker, but sometimes a little too enthusiastic.

"Yes, sir. But I thought you'd wanna know Caffrey was right about the dermatologist." Of course. "But, there's no connection with that other name she had me run."

He shot a glance at El. "Oh, right. The name _Nora_ had you run. What was it again?"

"Gina DeStefano."

"Gina DeStefano..." This seemed to catch El's attention. "Well, hold on, Blake."

"You know," El mused, "when Mozzie was over sweeping the house, he mentioned some waitress he was bonding with over mystery novels. I think that's her."

Typical Nora. He returned to his call. "Yup, Blake, keep monitoring. I'll be back soon." He hung up. "Mozzie has a crush?"

El shrugged. "It happens."


	23. Sal's

Chapter Twenty-Three

Sal's

They started investigating the apartment. Her definition of 'trashed' and Mozzie's definition were clearly quite different. It was tossed, but she wouldn't say it was trashed. "Coffee table askew," he muttered, "clothes put back upside down. Clearly the work of an amateur."

"You're right," she allowed. "Someone was looking for something."

"Hey, look at this." He stooped down to pick up a book, pulling something out of it. "I made this for Gina." Nora took a look. It was a napkin with an anagram written on it, the final answer spelling out 'you are cute.'

"Word play," she mused. "Hope you used protection."

He rolled his eyes. "She likes codes… And she kept it."

"To use when she files a restraining order?" He glared at her. Nora spied some photos on the mantle. "Uh, Moz."

He spun to look. "Boyfriend." The pictures showed a happy Gina in the arms of a short, bald man. Mozzie was holding it together surprisingly well. "He's folically and vertically challenged, like me. Only, better."

"Hey," she soothed, suddenly feeling bad for him, "he's a… version of you." He used the napkin to turn down the photos, triggering something in her mind. "Prints. If we find any, I can run them back at the office." _Or, at least, trick Blake into doing it for me_. "Gloves?"

"Always." He dug a pair of rubber gloves out of his bag and she moved to the printer she'd spotted on their way in. "Nora, I'll bet you a first-edition Faulkner that those two goons from the diner have a rap sheet from here to New Jersey." She pulled the toner cartridge from the printer. "Oh, here. Brush."

He scanned the room. "Drawers?" he suggested.

"Yeah." She knelt in front of the dresser and started dusting "Come on… No prints. Looks like the place has been wiped." She stood, spying a glass shelf at the top of the dresser. In the light from the window, she could just make out some smudges. Curious, she dumped the powder on the glass and started dusting it away.

"Someone left a message in fingerprints," she muttered. _Sals_.

"Gina… That's from 'The Harpist's Revenge.' Call in the cavalry!"

"Wait. Wait a second, Moz." His eyes were wide and wild. "Sal's. That's a cigar bar down by your chess club."

"Well, so what are we waiting for?" He started for the door. "This is a kidnapping. Time is of the essence." Nora followed him with a sigh, returning the cartridge to the printer. "Uh, Patty Hearst?"

"Yeah," she sighed.

* * *

As always, Diana was all too happy to comply with Peter's unusual request. An hour later, she pulled him and Jones into the conference room with the elevator's security footage. It was paused on a still of Nora. The wall reflected someone hiding from the camera in the corner, only his black hat appearing in the shot. "This little guy gets on at nineteen, but works the camera angles to avoid detection."

"And of course we know this little guy," Jones noted.

"Yes, we do," Peter agreed. "I'm surprised he got this close to the office. What do we know about Gina DeStefano?"

Diana leafed through a file. "Thirty-four years old, U.S. citizen."

"Still a waitress?"

"At Margo's Diner," she confirmed. Another agent stepped in briefly to hand Jones a file. "Good girl. No record. Today's pattern of cell use was unusually silent until she made a call about a half hour ago."

Jones handed her some papers from his file. "We traced that number back to Tommy Barnes."

"Multiple incoming and outgoing calls," Diana read. "Probably a boyfriend.

Peter took a paper from Jones as well. "Tommy's not so squeaky clean. Priors for B and E, selling stolen merch."

"Works as a limo driver," Diana added.

"Could be an errand boy for one of those numbers rings we've been keeping an eye on the East Side."

"Peter," Jones said, sliding his file across the table, "look at this."

Peter's stomach sank. "Where are Nora and Mozzie?" he demanded.

"What's the problem?" Diana asked.

"Pull Caffrey's tracking detail," he ordered to Jones as the agent headed for the door.

"Already on it."

Diana stared at him. "Peter, what's going on?"

Peter tossed her the file. "Look who Tommy's linked to."

"Cristofer Navarro..."

He stormed from the room. "I need someone to find out where Caffrey is right now," he shouted. Before she ended up getting herself killed.

* * *

Nora glanced over her shoulder as she pulled her picks out again. No one was passing behind them on the sidewalk, and she got to work on the lock. "I'll keep watch," Mozzie offered.

"Alright."

"Hurry up."

"I'm hurrying, Moz," she huffed. The lock popped and Sal's was open to her. She slipped inside, careful that the door didn't make a sound.

"Enough," she heard someone snap from a nearby room. She crept slowly down the hall toward the voice, making sure her heels didn't click on the floor. "I don't care about a girl. I care about my money."

She slipped around a corner, keeping her back pressed against the wall. "Our driver drops off a package," the voice continued, "walks out with a hundred thousand cash. My cash." She peered around a wall. Five men were seated around a table at the back of the room. "In Colombia, we all go for a walk in the jungle right about now."

"So, that's what we do," one of the men said simply.

"Really, Vince?" the first man huffed. "We go for a walk in the jungle to get my money back?"

"Yeah," Vince insisted, "but it's a park.

* * *

Peter tried dialing her number as he and Diana drove to the spot her anklet put her at, but was sent to voice mail. "You've reached Nora," her message greeted. "Big brother's watching, so leave a message at your own risk."

"Text her," Peter told Diana. "Nora and Mozzie better not get involved in Navarro's business. He has a low tolerance for outsiders." He put his siren in the windshield and switched it on.

* * *

_Son of a bitch,_ she cursed herself as she fumbled with her phone. _Stupid, stupid, stupid. What are you? A rank amateur? Forgetting to silence your damn phone?_

She read the message quickly. It was from Diana. 'Contact Burke ASAP_._'

_Great. Now I've got to deal with Peter, too_.

"Someone's here," the man growled. They started for her. Nora crouched to the floor. Another text came in, this time from Mozzie. 'GUNS!'

_Sure, because why not?_

With her options being die now or die later, Nora shut herself in a closet, jamming a pick in the lock. The door had a glass panel set in the front, so as hiding spots went, it wasn't the greatest. The man tried the door, glaring with murderous eyes at her.

She ducked around the corner. "Open it," the man ordered his men. "Let's do this face-to-face." Mind racing, Nora started climbing the shelves, hoping to get through the vent before the men got the door open. "She's going to the roof."

"Everything alright in here?" a booming voice called. Nora had never been more relived and terrified to hear it.

"We're closed for business," the man told Peter.

"Special Agent Burke, FBI. Got a report someone broke in here." The men glared at Peter. "Thought I'd do my duty and stop a crime in progress, but I see you men are already on that."

She hopped down. Peter glared at her and gave her the double finger point. Between Peter and the men with guns, Nora was reluctant to come out. She unjammed the lock, stepped out, and pressed her back against the wall, keeping as far away from the men as she could get. "If this woman entered your place of business illegally you have every right to press charges," Peter told them.

_Sure, sell me out, Peter_.

The man stared at Peter. "I care deeply about the trees. I don't wanna waste paper on this girl." He shot Nora a murderous glance. "And don't worry, officer. We all have permits for these guns."

"I'll be back another time to check those permits. I can understand why the proprietor of a cigar lounge is so heavily armed," said dryly. "You never know who you're gonna find in your humidor."

With that, Diana grabbed Nora roughly by the arm and dragged her out. Nora stared at her shoes. Once outside, Peter glanced up and down the street before rounding on her. "Where's the little guy?"

She licked her lips, only briefly considering lying. "Moz," she called. "Come on out." He scuttled out from around the corner.

"Suit, I must say," he said, "your timing is impeccable."

"You two can fill me in from the beginning back at the bureau," he huffed. The two agents stormed off to Peter's car, parked haphazardly by the curb, siren still flashing in his windshield.

Nora started after them. "He wants me to go to the bureau?" Mozzie scoffed.

"Yeah, Moz," Nora snapped. The adrenaline and near-death experience had left her in somewhat of a sour mood. "If you want the FBI's help, you gotta go to the bureau." He shifted nervously, and she was worried he would run away. "Just do it for Gina."

He looked at her desperately. "You know what they do to guys like me at the bureau?"

"I do, Moz," she hissed, lifting her pant leg to show off her anklet for emphasis. "I do." With a last glare, she headed for Peter's car, slinking into the back seat. Reluctantly, Mozzie followed.

It was an awkward car ride back, no one saying a word. Nora and Peter silently fumed, for different reasons. Mozzie wiggled uncomfortably in his seat, looking like he'd rather be just about anywhere else. Diana glanced between Nora and Peter, like someone who'd managed to find themselves trapped in the middle of someone else's drama.

An awkward elevator ride followed the awkward car ride. Diana excused herself on another floor, leaving the three of them to ride the rest of the way up. The doors opened to the twenty-first floor. Peter stormed out without a word, and Nora trailed behind until she noticed Mozzie had not followed.

"One foot in front of the other," she sighed, some of her anger evaporating. She knew this wasn't an easy thing for Mozzie to do. "Come on, Moz." Slowly, he crossed the threshold. He stopped again inside the glass doors, eyes wide with terror as he took in his surroundings. "Moz? Do you need some coffee?"

He didn't respond, and for a second, Nora was worried he might feint. "Hello?" she said, snapping in front of his face. "Rain Man." She whistled softly. "Come on. Let's go. You're okay." Reluctantly, he followed her up to Peter's office.

They took a seat across from Peter's desk while they waited for an agent to bring them coffee. Peter stood by the window, looming over them with crossed arms and a furious glare. Memories of sitting nervously in the principal's office came to mind, which was ridiculous since she was an adult and had done something much worse than the stuff that got her sent to the principal's office.

The agent entered and placed a mug of coffee down in front of Mozzie, sitting another one down by the keyboard for Peter. Nora didn't voice her indignant thought that he hadn't brought her any.

"Alright," Peter sighed.

Without warning, Mozzie jerked forward, switching the mugs. She rolled her eyes, completely over his paranoia. Peter sighed, waiting for Mozzie to be done. "That's what you'd expect me to do," Mozzie muttered, and switched the cups back.

"Alright," Peter huffed. "This is not a game." He sank down into his chair. "That guy you walked in on, Cristofer Navarro, Colombian, washed his hands of drugs, moved on to weaponry and racketeering." Nora glared at Mozzie, who shot an apologetic look back. "Knows his way around a machete and a handgun. He's been on our radar for a long time. How'd he get on yours?"

Neither of them spoke, exchanging a glance. Nora gestured for Mozzie to spit it out, because she certainly wasn't going to do it. "An acquaintance of mine left Margo's Diner this morning and has not been seen since."

"He was worried about her," Nora offered, "so we stopped by her apartment."

"Where we found a clue."

"And we dusted for prints."

Peter stared at her. "You dusted for prints?"

She nodded. "That's what led us to Sal's."

He glanced between the two of them, dumbfounded. "Where, on half a hunch, you walked in on Navarro." She looked down. "If you'd come to me, we could have done this right. Now Navarro's spooked." He rounded on Mozzie. "What exactly is the nature of your relationship with Gina?"

"Intellectual," Mozzie said stiffly, wiggling in his chair. "Literal… Ongoing."

Peter turned back to Nora, exasperated. "Is he stalking her?"

She struggled for words for a moment, completely at a loss. "I'd have to look up the legal definition," she admitted. Mozzie scowled at her.

"I hate to break it to you two," Peter sighed, standing to pick up a file on the other table, "but your girl, Gina, has a boyfriend." He tossed the file down in front of them. The man from the pictures in Gina's apartment stared up at them. "Tommy Barnes."

"A version of me," Mozzie muttered.

"If you were a low-end criminal and drove limos as a part-time job," Peter allowed.

"Yeah, if..."

Something tugged in her mind, and she tugged at her hair absently. "Wait a minute… I overheard Navarro say that a driver stole $100,000 from him. Tommy rips him off, he goes after the girlfriend."

There was a knock on the door and Diana rushed in to hand Peter a file. "Got another ping on Gina," she said.

Peter read it quickly. "So much for being off the grid. Twenty minutes ago, she used her credit card to buy nuts from a shop in Tompkins Square Park."

"One of Navarro's men said something about a park," Nora mused, climbing to her feet.

Mozzie jumped up. "This is a clue. Gina is allergic to nuts. She told me she was once hospitalized for it when- check her file," he prompted.

Diana flipped through the pages. "In oh-seven," she confirmed, "anaphylactic shock."

"A nut allergy?" Peter asked dryly.

"It could work," Nora insisted.

Peter nodded. "I'll take Navarro down any way I can," he decided.


	24. A Walk in the Park

Chapter Twenty-Four

A Walk in the Park

Nora and Mozzie waited in the park while Peter went to question the cashier that sold the peanuts bought with Gina's card. He returned after asking his questions. "The cashier remembers her," he reported, stowing a photo of her back in his jacket pocket. "She was here about an hour ago." He nodded toward a nearby bench. "She sat right there on that bench."

"Was she with anyone?" Nora asked.

"Cashier said she didn't notice, but she said she looked scared."

They started walking toward the bench, an abandoned bag of nuts still sitting there. "No traffic or security cams," Mozzie huffed. "The only place in the city Big Brother isn't watching."

Peter didn't answer as he looked around at the happy park visitors. Tourists took photos of statues. Parents filmed candid videos of their children having fun. He paused, an idea brewing, and pulled out his phone. "Jones," he greeted with the agent answered, "I need credit card receipts from every shop in this area for all purchases made in the past two hours."

Nora stared at him quizzically. "You don't care how many 'I heart New York' key chains were sold," she guessed. "You wanna know who bought them."

Peter returned his phone to his pocket. "We get names, find out where they're staying." He picked up the bag of nuts with a handkerchief.

Nora smirked. "And welcome them to our fine city by confiscating their camcorders."

"We'll give them back," he dismissed, already starting to walk back in the direction of the car. Nora and Mozzie followed after.

It took a couple hours to get the footage, but Jones came through. They gathered in the conference room and started pouring over the very touristy videos.

It was a slow and tedious process. Nora and Peter watched over an agent's shoulder at a video of a man licking a statue, their noses both scrunched in disgust. "Ugh," Peter groaned, "don't they know what birds do on that statue?"

"It's like licking the Eiffel Tower," Nora muttered.

"Are you even looking for Gina?" Mozzie snapped, pacing impatiently to get a look at all of the computer screens set up around the table.

"Yes, we're looking for Gina," Peter shot back. "We've _been_ looking for Gina in eight different languages and we'll _keep_ looking for Gina." Blake, who'd come in to hand out sandwiches, nervously handed Peter his. "Thank you."

"Uh, there's provolone on my smoked turkey ciabatta," Mozzie protested, holding it out in front of his like it were a grenade liable to go off at any moment. "Did you tell them I wanted provolone?"

"What?" Blake muttered, confused by the sudden outburst. "No."

Nora waved him away. "Do you want half of mine?" she offered gently.

"Can't you just take it off?" Peter asked.

He stared blankly at Peter. "Do you have any idea what happens if I ingest even the slightest essence of dairy?"

Peter froze, sandwich halfway to his mouth. "Please," he said dryly, "tell me. Don't spare any details. What right do I have to enjoy my delicious deviled ham sandwich after spending my day looking for your girlfriend?"

"Peter," Nora said softly, holding up a hand to tell him he needed to ease off. "You got onboard." Her voice was soothing, but she looked as frustrated as Peter felt.

"I was dragged onboard," he protested. "You dragged me onboard."

"I dragged you-" she started, but was cut off abruptly by Mozzie.

"There she is!"

Their budding argument forgotten, they rushed over to take a look at the monitor he pointed at. "Alright, play it again," Peter instructed the agent sitting at the computer. "Slow it down." He spotted what Mozzie had. "Zoom in, right there on the park bench."

Sure enough, it was Gina. She looked calm enough, just sitting on the bench. "Her eyes," Nora noted. "She looks to the right."

"Moves her hand a little, too," Peter added. "We've been looking at this park from all angles. If we combine all the footage, we can put together coverage of this entire area. Get a look at who she's communicating with."

"Tapes three, seven, twelve, and fifteen have everything we need," Mozzie said after a moment, "plus this one, of course."

Dumbfounded, Peter shot a glance back to Nora, who seemed unconcerned. "He has perfect recall," she said with a shrug.

While they waited for the footage they needed to be pulled and put together, Nora managed to convince Mozzie to sit down and trade sandwiches with her. Despite hers being dairy free, he picked at the sandwich, seeming to barely even taste it as he ate mechanically. She spoke softly to him, reassuring hand on his shoulder, and kept him out of Peter's hair long enough that he was able to eat his deviled ham.

It didn't take long to get the footage back. The three of them stood at the head of the table, watching it play on the big monitor.

"She's waiting for something," Peter realized.

Mozzie sprung forward, pointing at two figures as they came into view. "Look, it's Vince and Mike from the diner."

"They're dropping back," Nora observed. "They don't wanna be seen."

"That's what the call was," Peter said. Tommy ambled onto the screen, a bouquet of flowers in his hands. "She told Tommy to meet her. They used her to draw him out."

"Classic move," Nora sighed. They watched as Gina looked over at Tommy. "She warns him. She can't let him walk into it." Tommy got the message and turned back the other direction, disappearing into the crowd for a moment before reappearing in another shot.

"He's _leaving_ her there?" Mozzie huffed, aghast. "Class act, this Tommy."

"There!" Peter rushed toward the monitor, pointing at one of the frames of video. "Rewind it, blow it up." As Tommy passed a trashcan, he pulled something from his pocket and tossed it inside.

"What was that?" Nora wondered.

"Let's find out."

The three of them headed out with a team of agents to find the trashcan. It wasn't too hard to find, using the video as reference. He left Nora and Mozzie in the car while he looked into the trash, texting Nora when they found what they were looking for.

"Tommy dumped his phone," he told them when they rejoined him.

Nora knelt down next to him by the pile of garbage. "He doesn't wanna be tracked. Can I see it?" The agent holding the phone held it up for her. "He has an unchecked message. Must have come in after he ditched it."

"Put it on speaker," Peter instructed.

The listened carefully over the babble of the park. "Five p.m. tomorrow," a man's voice said. "East corner of Houston and Norfolk. Just you and the money, or you'll never see the girl again."

Nora's jaw was tight. "Navarro has no idea Tommy didn't get this."

"And we have no idea where Tommy is," Peter sighed. "If he doesn't show up tomorrow-"

"Then Gina's dead," Mozzie concluded.

* * *

The team ended up staying late that night. Peter pulled them together to brainstorm, the city already covered in darkness. Coffee cups sat in front of everyone, lest they begin to nod off. Mozzie, however, paced along the exterior of the room. "Navarro's gone to a lot of trouble over a hundred grand," he explained. "Why not put a hit on Tommy, sit back and wait?"

"Okay, Navarro's after you," Diana said, "you've got a briefcase full of cash, and you need to disappear. What do you do?" All eyes turned to Nora in unison.

She grinned, flattered. "You guys." She licked her lips quickly before launching into her answer. "First thing I'd do is get rid of my phone and credit cards."

"Which he did," Peter agreed.

"Hop on a plane," Jones offered.

She shook her head, frizzed curls bobbing. "Airport security is tight. You pay cash for a ticket, that's a red flag." Mozzie nodded in agreement. "Bus is risky. You sit in one place too long, people remember you."

"Oh, and bus stations are the first place you people always put wanted posters," Mozzie chimed in.

"Trains are no good," Peter added. "You get on one, you're stuck."

"Unless you're a fan of the jump-and-roll," Nora joked, "which I'm not."

"I'd just drive," Diana said, "but Tommy doesn't have a car."

"And all the limos at his company are in his lot," Jones said.

Mozzie paused in his pacing. "You could boost one," he suggested, "but that's risky."

"You can't get a rental with cash anymore," Nora mused.

"Cash," Peter said, something seeming to click in his mind. "What about a taxi?"

Nora considered it. "A couple grand will get you across a few state lines," she allowed. That had to be it.

Peter nodded. "Diana, get eyes on the airports, bus and train stations. Start with the cab companies. I'll prep Tactical."

"Come on," Diana instructed another agent, already out of her seat and heading for the door.

"Jones," Peter continued, "you're on audio."

"Yup," Jones agreed.

Mozzie raised his hand. "Hey, what team am I on?"

"You're not," Peter huffed, starting for the door. "Nora's taking you home." Mozzie looked like he wanted to say something, but he remained silent.

Indignant, Nora followed after him. "Hey, you're sidelining me now?" she muttered. "Disappearing is what I do-" He gave her a cold look. "Did. But I am a wealth of information."

He sighed, and she got the feeling he agreed with her. "Mozzie is too close to handle a ransom situation." She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. "I'll call if I need anything." She tried a pouty face. "That's it," he said, finality in his voice, putting his hands on his hips.

With a sigh, she let it go. "Come on, Moz." She pushed past Peter.

"Suit," Mozzie muttered as he passed.

It was pushing midnight by the time the two of them made it back to Nora's apartment. Entirely worn out, Nora sat on the arm of the couch. Mozzie, however, was restless. He paced by the table, and she watched with a feeling of complete helplessness.

"I knew something was wrong at the diner. I should have done something," he chided himself.

"Don't blame yourself, Moz," she said softly. "Peter will find Tommy. He found me. Twice."

"He _knew_ you," Mozzie argued. "He knew where you'd go."

She paused, mind racing. "When he found me, I wasn't running away."

"You were running toward something."

It clicked all at once. "Toward _someone_. Kyle. You think Tommy's the kinda guy that would stick around for a girl?"

"All I know is that Gina's the kind of girl worth sticking around for." She smiled sadly. That was actually really sweet, and not a side of Mozzie she got to see often. His love life had been a bit… sparse in all the time Nora had known him.

Nora pushed to her feet, a new wave of resolve washing away her fatigue. "Peter works one side, we'll work the other." She joined Mozzie by the table. "Let's say Tommy is a version of you. You decide to wait around. When things cool off, you find Gina and take off together."

"All I'd need is one thing," he realized.

She grinned. "A new identity."

"In times of crisis, people tend to go where they feel safe. Tommy grew up in Tudor City."

She raised an eyebrow, impressed. "You got a look at his file?"

"With one eye," he dismissed. He was silent for a moment, pondering. "The only decent ID guy left in the east 40s is Devlin."

Nora chuckled. "Devlin. You two go way back."

Mozzie scowled. "Ever since that Spanish Harlem job went bad, he secretly hates me." He raised his hands in exasperation. "If he wasn't so jumpy. I mean, if you can't handle stress, try needlepoint."

"Alright," Nora said, getting back to the matter at hand, "so Devlin won't just hand over a name." She bit her lip, thinking it through. "Is Jones still outside?"

They took a peek out the window. Sure enough, the Municipal Utilities van was parked on the other side of the street. She wondered if he thought he was fooling them, or if he realized they'd made him as soon as he started following them. It didn't matter.

"Apparently we're deserving of round-the-clock supervision," Mozzie said dryly.

"Well, lucky for us, we can use that to our advantage."


	25. Tommy

Chapter Twenty-Five

Tommy

Nora and Mozzie lingered beside a street vendor truck. Jones, who'd followed them dutifully, leaned casually against a lamp post on the other side of the street. She dialed his number quickly. "What do you want, Caffrey?" he sighed.

"I need you to do me a favor."

He glanced over his shoulder, spying her across the street as she waved cheerfully. "I'm not doing anything illegal."

"Did you ever see Scarface?"

"Yeah, why?" Quickly, she ran over her plan. It wasn't too hard to convince him once he was assured that nothing illegal was going to happen.

All that was left to do was wait. Mozzie had it on good authority that Devlin would show up sooner or later. And, show up, he did. They waited until he got his food to greet their old friend. The man looked just the same as Nora remembered, with his shaggy blond hair and a few days of scruff to cover his baby face. He wore a t-shirt that read 'I DO ID.'

His eyes fell on her, and he paused in his tracks. "Nora Caffrey," he mused, shaking her hand enthusiastically. "Man, it's been a long time." His eyes fell on Mozzie, slightly narrowed. "Hey, Moz. You're looking good."

"Devlin," Mozzie greeted tightly. "I see you haven't lost your penchant for shameless self-promotion." He gestured to Devlin's shirt.

Devlin glared at him. "You guys are a long way from home."

Nora shot a warning look at Mozzie, hoping he could keep it together long enough to get what they needed, for Gina's sake. "Yeah, we were just in the neighborhood," she dismissed. "Thought we'd grab some coffee.

Mozzie pushed past Devlin and went to stand in line. "What's with him?" Devlin muttered.

"This guy over here..." She cast a wary glance over her shoulder at Jones. "He's-"

"Nora!" Mozzie warned.

She ignored him. "He's a fed. We noticed him following us a while back."

Devlin shifted uncomfortably, glancing between the two of them and Jones. "You serious?"

"Powdered sugar?" Mozzie called from the line. Rolling her eyes, she moved to join him. "What are you doing? A fed?"

"What?" she spat. "He believed me. As if I'm gonna tell Devlin that guy works for Navarro."

"What?" Devlin hissed, rushing over to them. "That guy works for Navarro? What are you guys into?"

"Nothing, okay?" Nora sighed. She and Mozzie exchanged a glance before she continued. "Guy named Tommy Barnes stole a hundred grand from Navarro. Word is, somebody made him a fake ID." Devlin's face grew pale.

"Oh, crap, man."

"Navarro thinks I did it," Mozzie explained.

"Holy crap." He rubbed his beard nervously, lower lip trembling.

"Here he comes," Mozzie muttered, spying Jones making his way over. "Vouch for me. Alright, Devlin? You owe me from that Spanish Harlem debacle."

"Moz, I got your back, man," he dismissed, and they all knew it was a lie.

Jones stopped in front of them, eyes hard and convincingly scary. "You," he huffed at Mozzie.

"You got the wrong guy," Mozzie protested, "I swear."

"Look, man," Devlin said calmly. "Hi. I know who you are. I don't want any trouble, okay? That guy there." He pointed at Mozzie. "He was just bragging about an ID he made for a guy named Tommy Barnes."

Mozzie stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "I did no such thing, I don't have a death wish."

Devlin cut him off. "Hey, he told me Tommy's new name is Sam Brennan." Mozzie shot him a withering gaze. "Okay? Sam Brennan. That's what he said."

Jones glanced between the three of them. "Both of you better come with me," he told Nora and Mozzie, grabbing them by the biceps.

"I won't forget this, Devlin," Mozzie spat as Jones hauled them away.

Once they were away from Devlin, Jones broke into a smirk. "Oh, you guys have more fun than we do.

"Whatever, Travolta," Nora teased.

* * *

Peter paced at the back of the conference room while he addressed his agents. Everything had been quiet from Jones' end, so he hoped that meant Nora and Mozzie decided to behave themselves long enough for Peter to get some work done. Or, at least, not done anything stupid enough for Jones to report.

"Surveillance outpost is set up a block from the drop site," Peter explained as the agents took notes. "Cameras and mics on exterior. Tactical is on the move. Any questions?" No one spoke up. "We will bring Tommy in. There will be a drop."

"I have good news," Diana called from the doorway, holding up a yellow envelope.

"I need good news."

"A taxi driver came forward," she reported. "A man matching Tommy's description caught a cab near the park yesterday. Said he'd give him $5,000 to drive him to Chicago without calling it in."

Peter's brow furrowed. "Why is the driver talking?"

"Because Tommy only gave him four hundred. He made him turn around at the Jersey Turnpike." She started pulling something from the envelope. "But look at what he paid with."

She handed him a stack of evidence bags, each with a single hundred dollar bill inside. Peter examined them closely for a moment. "These are sequential bills," he realized.

"Tommy hasn't made any withdrawals, so he's using the money he took from Sal's."

The pieces started falling together. "Navarro's laundering money through Sal's."

Diana nodded. "That's why he wanted that particular hundred grand back."

"Because it can be traced." They smirked. "This could blow up Navarro's entire enterprise."

His phone started ringing, Jones finally reporting in. "Yeah, Jones," he greeted.

"Peter, I'm with Caffrey and the little guy," he explained. "We got a tip that Tommy Barnes has a new ID. Sam Brennan."

It was just what they needed. Of course Nora wasn't going to sit on her hands while Peter did all the work. He couldn't be too mad; she got what they needed and didn't nearly get herself murdered in the process. "Thanks, Jones." He turned back to the agents still sitting idle at the table. "Alright, run the name Sam Brennan. Hit the hotels and motels. He'll be the one paying cash."

It didn't take too long to get a hit on Tommy's new ID. Peter grabbed Diana and the two went to bring him in. Peter lingered by an ATM, waiting for Tommy to pass, while Diana took a spot hidden around the corner of a building's entrance.

"Tommy," Peter called as the man passed. He paused, spinning around to face Peter, and Peter flashed his badge. "Your name's Sam now, remember?" Tommy turned to keep walking, only to wheel around into Diana. He sighed, realizing he had nowhere to go. "Special Agent Burke, FBI."

Diana grabbed Tommy's wallet and started rifling through it, pulling out the hundreds to glance over them. "Same sequence as the bills from the cab," she reported. "The rest in your safe in the hotel?"

Tommy glanced over his shoulder, licking his lips. "Yeah."

"Get ERT on it," Peter told her. "Let Nora and Mozzie know we've got Tommy." He turned back to Tommy. "We need to talk. Come on."

Tommy was silent the whole way back to the bureau. Once in Peter's office, he shifted, antsy and nervous in the chair, unable to relax. Once ERT returned with the money, sealed in an evidence bag, Peter started asking his questions. "How'd you get your hands on this money?"

"A few nights ago, I did a drop at Sal's," he sighed. "There were some briefcases. Nobody was looking."

Peter leaned heavily on the table, staring intently at Tommy. "Navarro has Gina. We don't know where. He's threatening to kill her." Tommy said nothing. "There's a way to make this right." Eyes troubled and scared, Tommy looked away.

* * *

The surveillance outpost was bustling with activity, agents rushing around getting ready for the drop. Nora watched, shoulders tense, while Peter barked out orders, going over the plan one last time.

Mozzie watched with wide eyes, drinking in as much information as he could possibly absorb about the operation, as if him knowing it would help. She tried her best to keep Mozzie cool, but his nerves had been growing steadily more frayed the longer the case drug on, and she wasn't too sure how long it was going to be before he snapped. The best they could hope for was a quick, and smooth victory.

"Remember, the color of the day is orange," Peter concluded.

"Gina's favorite," Mozzie chimed in.

Nora sighed, shooting an apologetic look to Peter. "He'll stay out of the way," she promised, already pushing him off to a corner of the room where he couldn't cause too much trouble.

"He'd better," Peter huffed. "Alright, let's move out."

"Stay here," she whispered to Mozzie once she had him safely tucked out of the way. Leaving him was risky, but she needed to talk to Peter. She shot a glance over her shoulder, and much to her dismay, he was already messing with the FBI equipment. She let it go; if that was the most trouble he was causing for the FBI, she would take it.

"Nora!" She'd barely reached Peter before Diana cried out for help, dragging Mozzie along by the bicep. Nora raced over to them.

"You do realize Navarro's gonna think he bought that flashy watch with the money, right?" Mozzie huffed at Diana.

Nora crossed her arms sternly. "What are you doing, Moz?"

"I'm explaining the risks when he's out there," he snapped, as if it made perfect sense. "Gina's life in his hands, he doesn't screw it up."

"Get him out of here," Diana hissed. Nora grabbed him by the arm and started dragging him away.

"No," Peter barked, watching the whole thing with fire in his eyes. "I want him where I can see him." He glanced around and pointed to a seat behind them. "That chair. Don't move. Don't speak. Sit, read a book."

Dejected, Mozzie did as he was told. Jones moved in to address the agents. "Okay, folks. Navarro's here with two guards and they brought artillery. Looks like MP5s and ACPs."

Nora's eyes fell on a monitor displaying feed of Navarro. He and two of his men lingered at the designated meeting spot. "This is it," Peter called. "Everyone in position. Everyone in a vest. Tommy, you ready?"

"We got you covered from every angle," Diana assured him when he didn't speak.

"I can't go out there," Tommy muttered.

Mozzie glanced up at Nora, who just shot him an icy look. If Tommy was having doubts, it was mostly on Mozzie for freaking him out. "Look," Peter said gently, "if Navarro sees anyone but you out there, we risk losing Gina."

Before Nora could stop him, Mozzie sprang to his feet and rounded on Tommy. "I'm confounded by what Gina sees in you," he spat. "You ran away once, but you turned around and came back. Man up."

Tommy didn't answer. And he bolted. "Tommy, get back here," Peter called as Tommy ran into a line of armed agents. Peter jabbed a finger into Mozzie's chest. "You are three seconds away from being arrested."

Peter stalked over to Tommy, the man scared, panting, and sweaty. "Tommy, if you love her, then you have to go, and I mean now."

With a warning look to Mozzie, Nora joined them. "Just walk out there and give him the money," she advised gently.

"He's… he's gonna kill me," Tommy protested.

Before either she or Peter could think of something to counter that, Jones called for their attention by the monitors. "Uh, guys? We got a problem at the drop point."

"What do you mean a problem," Peter huffed as the two of them went to take a look.

As she walked, her eyes fell on Mozzie's empty chair. "Where's Mozzie?" He was no where to be seen among the agents that still lingered in the outpost.

"He just walked into the drop," Peter hissed. Nora's stomach sank to the floor.


	26. The Perfect Exchange

Chapter Twenty-Six

The Perfect Exchange

Nora watched the screen in mute horror, simultaneously looking terrified and like she wanted to strangle Mozzie. If the situation weren't so dire, Peter would have pointedly reminded her that she'd put him in the same position when she ran off half-cocked and broke into Sal's. But, it wasn't the time to rub things in.

Mozzie stood in front of Navarro, hands raised to show he was unarmed, a stack of bills held tight in his fist. "Who the hell are you?" Navarro demanded. Mozzie didn't answer. "Search him."

"I work for Tommy," Mozzie finally said as one of Navarro's men started to pat him down. "I'm his intermediary." He jerked away from Navarro's man. "Hands!"

He turned back to Navarro, offering out the money. "I can get you the rest."

Peter huffed. The four of them crowded around the monitor, watching and barely daring to breathe. "Where is he going with this?"

Diana shook her head slowly. "Let's hope he gets there fast."

"Tell Tommy I can guarantee a quick, but not painless," Navarro threatened, passing the bills to one of his men. "He'll know what I mean."

The three of them started to walk away. Nora let out a breath. He would walk right into the waiting line of FBI agents and they could get to work finding where he'd hidden Gina.

"You're an idiot," Mozzie called after him, freezing him in his tracks. Peter glanced over to Nora, who stared in exasperation at the footage. "You think Tommy's phone was encrypted? Your message was intercepted by the feds."

"You think this is a secure spot?" Mozzie continued. "Look up. There's a sniper. There's another one." He pointed them out in turn. "Guy tying his shoe? Agent." Peter pinched the bridge of his nose, turning away so he didn't have to keep watching the little guy reduce the operation to rubble. He could still hear it, however. "Lady with the fruit cart? Agent. We're surrounded. They've been onto you since Sal's."

"How'd you know about that?" Navarro demanded.

"Oh, please," Mozzie huffed. "This is right out of the book. Page seventy-three, paragraph two, line five and paragraph four, line seven. Right out of the book."

Nora's eyes snapped up to Peter's, brow furrowed. They returned their attention to the screen where Navarro, fed up with the situation, pulled a gun, pressing it to Mozzie's ribs. "Where's Tommy? Where's my money?"

"This is not blowing up under my watch," Peter hissed. He held up his walkie. "We gotta move. Go, go."

Agents started rushing forward. "You know so much, you know a way out?"

Mozzie didn't answer for a moment. "Subway was the only place they couldn't cover," he explained. "Lucky for you, I got a MetroCard." Navarro shoved Mozzie forward, and the four men hustled toward the subway, disappearing out of sight.

Frustrated, Peter slammed his walkie down on the table and rounded on Nora. "He _knows_ that is our only blind spot. What is he thinking?"

Nora's concern was replaced by that look she got when she was deep in thought. "Page seventy-three, paragraph two, line five. Is that from the FBI field manual?"

"No," Peter huffed. His phone started ringing. "It's Hughes." With a pointed look at Nora, even though Mozzie bungling up their operation wasn't really her fault, he stepped away to answer it. "Yes, sir."

* * *

Heart pounding, Nora thought as hard as she could to make sense of Mozzie's page number. It was obviously his way of passing a message, but without the right book, it was useless. She knew Mozzie had read so many books, she could check them for days and never find the right one unless she was incredibly lucky. And, while luck tended to be on her side for the most part, she didn't want to put too much stock in it with his life in danger.

No, it had to be a book relevant to the case, something she would be able to figure out. Her eyes fell on the chair where Peter had attempted to put him in time-out. His book sat forgotten on the seat. 'Snap of the Twig,' the book Gina had asked Mozzie to read even though he'd already read it, the one she said she got really caught up in.

Nora scooped it up and started flipping to the page Mozzie had mentioned. She scanned the lines he listed. Two words popped out at her. "Perfect… exchange." _Of course._ Mozzie had a plan all along, she just wished he'd run it by her before running off to face Navarro alone.

She replaced the book where she found it and slipped out while Peter was too busy getting chewed out by Hughes to notice her.

No one stopped her.

Back at her apartment, she changed her clothes quickly, still not sure exactly what she was going to do to help Mozzie, but knowing she needed to do something. As quickly as she came home, she rushed out again.

Her heart nearly jumped out of her chest when she pulled the door open to Peter looming over her, 'Snap of the Twig' held open to page seventy-three. She kept her face schooled into a calm expression.

"What's the perfect exchange?" Peter asked flatly.

With a smirk, she held the door open and gestured him in. Of course he would figure it out. Though, she couldn't help but wonder how long he'd been standing there, holding the book open to make his dramatic appearance while he waited for her to open the door.

He took a seat on the couch and she got them each a mug of coffee. "Whatever it is," she explained, sitting down in the chair across form him and handing over his coffee, "money for a painting, drugs, or a person, the handoff's always a problem. It all comes down to trust."

Peter nodded along. "How do you know the bad guy won't shoot you, keep the money and the valuable jewels-slash-masterpiece-slash-bond certificate?"

"Exactly," she allowed. "So, one night over a bottle of Armagnac, Mozzie and I figured out the perfect way to do it."

He raised an eyebrow. "That's why you're wearing your cat-burglar outfit?"

She blinked innocently. "I'm a New Yorker," she protested. "We like black."

"Mm-hmm."

"Let's start with the where," she offered. "It needs to be a neutral location, somewhere you can ensure both parties come unarmed. Security is key. You need metal detectors, but not scanners. You wanna get a bag of money and a canvas in."

Peter looked vaguely lost. "Just to be clear, Gina's the canvas?"

"Right. You also need a building with a public space on the roof. We decided on the Sutherland. It checks all the boxes. The meet has to happen during business hours. You want people around to distract from the handoff." She leaned forward. It had been a while since she and Mozzie had discussed the perfect exchange, and it was fun to think that it had finally come up again. "The Sutherland's book collection is valuable enough to warrant guards. If anyone tries to cause a fuss, the guards come. It's designed to keep both sides in check and on task. It's about the exchange, nothing else. Everybody wins."

Peter considered it for a moment, sipping on his coffee. "I like it," he decided, "except for one thing."

Her brow furrowed. It was perfect. What was there to dislike? "What's that?"

He held her eyes evenly. "Nothing's perfect."

With a huff, she stood, pacing away from the chair. "It's perfect," she insisted, "because one side will always try to outsmart the other. Navarro knows that Tommy can't walk in with a weapon."

"So Navarro's gonna make sure that there's one waiting for him when he gets there," Peter guessed.

Nora nodded. "We stake out the library."

Peter pushed himself to his feet, now seeing the beauty of the exchange. "Wait until one of Navarro's guys shows up."

"He'll keep an eye on the place," Nora agreed, "make sure Tommy doesn't have the same idea, then he'll plant the gun. We just follow Navarro's guy back to Mozzie."

Peter nodded soberly. "Okay, let's go wait for Navarro's guy to show up."

* * *

A cold rain fell on the city, painting everything in shades of gray. Peter studied Nora for a moment. She was slouched in her seat, rubbing her eyes with a heavy hand. Her skin was a little red and she had bags under her eyes, and Peter realized she'd forgone makeup altogether. It took a lot to make that happen, he knew, and he suddenly felt bad for her. She was keeping herself together, but he could see the stress wearing her down.

"I know this is boring," he said gently, "but stay awake."

She blinked rapidly, trying hard to keep her eyes open. "I haven't slept since this whole thing started," she admitted.

He stared at her. "Stomach hurt?"

She shrugged. "A little bit."

"Got that parched thing happening?"

She glanced at him. "Yeah, my mouth's a little dry."

"Hold onto that feeling," he advised. "Remember it the next time you decide to infiltrate the den of a mobster on a whim, or something equally cockeyed."

He could feel her eyes on him, even though he stared pointedly out the window. "Thank you for sharing your feelings, Peter," she teased. "I know that's sometimes difficult for you."

"You're welcome." Down the street, a man stepped out of a black car, casting wary looks over his shoulder. "That looks like Navarro's guy," he noted.

"He's here to plant the gun."

Peter nodded. "We follow him back to Mozzie, it'll all be over."

"I hope so," she sighed. Something sat wrong with Peter, and he paused, trying to figure out what it was. Nora opened her mouth to say something but stopped when she saw the look on his face. "Oh, _that's_ reassuring."

"The perfect exchange," Peter mused. "When did you pull it off?"

"A certain FBI agent came into my life," she reminded him dryly. "I didn't get the chance."

Peter's blood ran cold. "So, it's hypothetical."

"Yeah."

"What happens to the middle man?"

She stared at him. "We didn't have one."

That was exactly what he was afraid of. "When Vince tells Navarro that the gun's in place, he's got his meeting time, location, and a stashed weapon."

Her eyes grew wide, fear flashing in them. "Mozzie's about to become irrelevant," she realized. She reached for the door handles, ready to rush in without a plan, but Peter caught her shoulder. "I wanna go in there."

"Hold on." He motioned toward Vince. Once the man's back was turned, he bolted out of the car and pulled out his gun. It wasn't hard to sneak up on him. "Take me to Navarro."

* * *

"Oh, damn it!" Peter heard Mozzie call down the hall. He followed the sound of his voice. "There is no middleman."

"What does that mean?" a woman's voice asked.

As Peter came around the corner, gun drawn, he saw Navarro's men, Mozzie, and Gina. One of the men had a gun trained on Mozzie. "FBI," he shouted. "Drop your weapon." All at once, the rest of Navarro's men drew guns on Peter. "Drop it. Stay where you are."

Out of the corner of his eye, Peter saw Mozzie use the moment of distraction to snatch the gun pointed at him and turn it back on Navarro's man. Peter drew in a deep breath. Until his backup arrived, he was severely outnumbered. "Put your gun down," he ordered.

"You keep showing up," Navarro hissed. "I don't like surprises. And I don't like feds."

"You know what else you're not gonna like? Prison. Drop your weapon."

"Oh, I don't plan to go to prison." He took aim at Peter.

Not a moment too soon, the sound of footsteps thundered toward them. "FBI," Jones called as the cavalry raced in. "Drop your weapons. Drop your weapons now."

Peter smirked, offering Navarro a light shrug. "Looks like your plans just changed." The agents swarmed around Navarro's men, disarming and cuffing them.

"Moz!" Nora called, running through the mass of agents, heels clicking loudly on the tile. "You okay?" She skidded to a stop in front of him, wrapping him tightly in a hug.

Mozzie took a moment to breathe, eyes wild from adrenaline. They shared a look. "Middleman," they sighed in tandem.

She pulled away from him and squeezed his shoulder. "We might wanna rename the perfect exchange." He tried a laugh. Realizing the gun was still held tightly in his hand, he held it out gingerly as if it might bite him.

Peter took it from him. "I got it, I got it."

With a relieved laugh, Gina ran up to Mozzie and took her turn to hug him. She kissed him quickly on the cheek. "Thank you."

Mozzie flushed bright red, dopey smile spreading on his lips. For once, he was at a loss for words.

* * *

Nora stood with Peter while they waited for Mozzie to finish up at the diner. She stared up at Peter quizzically. "How many dinners have you missed with Elizabeth have you missed because of me?" she wondered.

He stared at her for a moment. "I don't keep count," he dismissed. She raised an eyebrow. "Well, I've lost count." They shared a laugh. "So, Mozzie had you worried?" She didn't answer, just shrugged tightly. "How's it feel to walk a mile in my shoes?" he teased.

_Not good_, she thought miserably. She'd been a wreck that entire case. "I think I'll stick to heels, thank you very much." Mozzie rejoined them, looking slightly downcast. "How's Gina?"

"She's showing signs of a bodyguard complex," he lied. "I told her some distance between us would be good."

Nora decided to play along. "Yeah, a guy like you needs his space."

He nodded, silent for a moment. "So, we heading to the bureau?" He started walking without waiting for an answer. Nora and Peter shared a look, Nora trying very hard not to laugh.

They chased after him. "I got the bureau onboard with Caffrey," Peter joked, "but you?" Mozzie shot him an indignant look. "I don't even know your real name. And I've looked."

Nora smirked at him. To be honest, she didn't even know his real name. "Thanks for the pen, by the way," she said suddenly.

His brow furrowed. "What pen?" He started rifling through his jacket pocket. "I got it-"

She pulled it from her purse. "Earned it," she said simply. "It's mine now."

"No, it's not yours," Peter protested, "no." He held his hand out expectantly.

"No." They argued back and forth, Peter trying to snatch it back from her. "Peter," she whined.

"You gotta give me the pen." Reluctantly, she handed it over.

She crossed her arms, scowling up at him. "I solved the identity theft ring, remember? The dermatologist?"

Ignoring her, he stowed the pen back in his pocket. "Too bad, you're disqualified." She opened her mouth to argue. "You should have thought of that before you went and almost got yourself killed by Navarro and I had to save you ass." He shrugged. "Better luck next time."


	27. Sterling Bosch

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Sterling Bosch

Nora was unusually silent as they walked through the bustling city streets. A cool breeze swept her hair back, cutting through the pleasant late spring warmth. He'd refused to tell her where they were headed during their lunch hour, and she spent their walk mulling over the possibilities.

They were nearly there when she looked up at him, big blue eyes sparkling. "Are we going to Montebello?" she guessed.

"Yup."

"_Times_ food critic called it the best new restaurant in Manhattan," she gushed.

"Yelp gave it three stars."

"Wow. They practice molecular gastronomy."

Peter's brow furrowed. He had no idea what that was, though she was clearly excited by the prospect. "What?"

"It's a revolution in fine dining where chefs use biochemistry to create new and exotic dishes."

Of course, that would be right up her alley. "A grill works just fine for me."

She shook her head. "Every dish is a work of art. I'm surprised you chose Montebello. It's expensive. I'm impressed."

He laughed. "Oh, we're not eating there."

Her face fell. "Peter, this is like me taking you to Yankee Stadium and listening to the game in the parking lot."

He shrugged, feeling a little bad about stringing her along. "It's a meeting place," he protested. "I didn't pick it."

"Who did?"

"The insurance investigator."

She scowled. "Oh, insurance. Great."

He ignored her. "Someone stole a hundred million dollars in Japanese bearer bonds."

This, at least, cheered her up, and she smirked wistfully. "Samurai bonds," she mused, "nice." He stared at her, confused. "That's what their called on the street."

"Now I've got your interest," he teased.

"So, who's the investigator?"

Peter hesitated, just for a second. "He has a suspect here in Manhattan," he dodged, hoping she would miss it.

"He?" She froze in her tracks, eyes narrowed. "Wait, wait… Is it-?" The look on his face betrayed him. "No," she whined. He nodded, fighting back a smirk. "It is."

"Yep." She scowled, and he kept walking. Reluctantly, she followed after him.

Up ahead, a man in an expensive gray suit drew near them, wearing a vest rather than a jacket in the warm weather, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. He had strawberry blond hair, cut in a short side part and perfectly jelled down. Since the last time Peter had seen him, the man had grown a short beard, meticulously groomed. There was not a hair out of place.

Out of the corner of his eye, Peter saw Nora discreetly smooth down her hair and straighten her blouse. _Unbelievable_, he mused. Her expression had changed from a bitter scowl to mute interest.

"Agent Burke," the man called, closing the distance between them, "it's nice to see you." His eyes fell on Nora, still lingering a few steps behind. "Nora Caffrey, it's been a while."

"Spencer," she greeted cordially. "Nearly five years since you testified at my trial… against me."

He laughed. "Well, you did steal a painting insured by my employer for several million dollars," he reminded her, clearly still sour about it.

Nora was unfazed. "Not according to a jury of my peers."

"Your peers were in prison."

Nora shrugged. "A few of us managed to stay out."

"I could fix that."

Peter sighed. It was going about as well as he could have hoped. "I'm sorry to break up this happy reunion, but we're really here to talk about the samurai bonds." Spencer raised an eyebrow. "That's what they call them out on the street." Nora rolled her eyes.

"We're not here to talk about them," Spencer corrected. "We're here to find them."

"Guy's gotta make a living," Nora joked.

He shrugged. "Well, my fees _are_ based on recovery, so yeah." His eyes fell on a man sitting inside the restaurant.

"Spencer?" Peter said, pulling him from his thoughts.

He handed Peter a file he'd been holding onto. "My company, Sterling Bosch, insured a hundred million in non-government Japanese bearer bonds."

"Hundred million yen or U.S. dollars?" Nora wondered.

"Dollars."

Nora raised an eyebrow. "And, if you recover them."

Spencer stared at her for a moment. "Two percent." In other words, quite the pretty penny. "The truck was hijacked in transport," he continued. "I think the bonds are here in New York."

"He believes Edgar Halbridge is involved," Peter offered.

She nodded knowingly. "Big international real estate guy. He can move them without raising flags."

"Yes, he can," Spencer agreed. His eyes fell on the man inside again, and then on a shiny new car parked on the curb, attended by a valet. "Hey, Peter, can I borrow Nora for a second?"

Peter's brow furrowed. "What do you need her for?"

Nora glared between the two of them. "Sure, just keep talking about me like I'm not here."

"I need that guy's keys." Peter stared, dumbfounded. "Nothing illegal… not that she would mind." Peter glanced at Nora, and shrugged. "Great. Pretend you're a guy named Emilio's girlfriend."

Nora crossed her arms, but her curiosity got the better of her. She plastered on a sweet smile and went up to the car. "Hi!" She called to the valet. "Emilio's just inside." With a smile, the man rounded the car and handed over the keys, just like that.

"Here you go," he said, heading away for the next car.

"Thanks so much," she called after him. Once he was out of sight, Spencer joined her by the car and she handed the keys over. "And, what would you have done if I wasn't here?"

He shrugged. "I would have thought of something."

"Hey, you!" a man called, running up to them. "That's my car, get away from it."

Spencer sighed and rounded on the man. He had a good couple inches on Emilio, and drew himself to his full height. "Emilio, man, you can change the VIN numbers. You can change the grill, the paint. It's still a Mercedes SLR." Emilio glared at him, preparing to shoot back some retort, but Spencer cut him off. "I know because you did not change the electronic VIN behind the steering wheel."

"You're crazy," Emilio spat. "You're just stealing my car."

"You stole it. I'm taking it back." Emilio reached in his jacket pocket. Peter reached for his own gun, ready to draw, and Nora took a hurried step behind him, clutching the file to her chest. Spencer just looped his thumbs in his pockets, staring blankly at Emilio. "Don't make a scene."

Emilio, distracted, reached his hand further in his jacket, and before Peter could react, Spencer decked him. The man crumpled to the ground. "Shoot," Peter muttered, staring at the man as he cradled his bleeding nose.

Spencer shrugged. "You can file a complaint with my friend from the FBI," he offered as Emilio clamored back to his feet.

Emilio groaned. With a grin, Peter pulled out his badge. "Hey, hi there. Special Agent Burke, FBI."

Spencer rounded the car while Peter started his spiel with Emilio. "This is just a misunderstanding," Emilio protested, muffled by blood and a hand covering his nose. "I should get goin-"

"You should stop walking," Peter advised. "Put your hand above your head."

"Yeah, running just annoys him," Nora joked, following Spencer around the car. She caught the door before Spencer could pull it shut. "So, you're basically a high-class repo man?"

He smirked. "Well, I prefer white-collar bounty hunter."

"You should put that on your business card."

Spencer rubbed the steering wheel appreciatively. "This is a limited edition SLR worth $450,000."

"Making your cut nine thousand." He nodded. "Not a bad score on your lunch break."

"No, it's not. Speaking of business cards..." He pulled one out of his breast pocket. "When you feel like turning in that Raphael, please, call me." He flashed her a perfect, white grin and a quick wink.

Nora stared at it for a moment. "I wouldn't wait by the phone."

He stared at her for a moment. "See you tomorrow, Caffrey." She shut the door after him and he peeled out, tires squealing on the pavement.

"So happy to have you back in my life."

* * *

It had taken some doing, but Mozzie eventually managed to track down the wreckage of the plane. There had been a lot of red tape covering the investigation of the explosion, and Nora still wasn't sure how he managed to find the location in the end. They snuck in, careful of cameras and security and made their way in the hanger. Mozzie peered out over the floor overlooking the wreckage. "It's clear," he told her, and she joined him.

The sight make her heart beat rapidly, and she fought to keep her hands from shaking. All that was left was just bits and pieces. A wall here, a window there… "Come on," Mozzie said softly, patting her on the arm. They made their way down to the floor. It was worse up close. A burnt smell filled her nostrils. The memory of the choking scent of smoke filling her lungs resurfaced, and she struggled to push it away.

Suddenly overwhelmed, she doubled over, forcing herself to take deep breaths. She thought she could do it, could be there… Mozzie's hand squeezed her shoulder. "Hey, are you okay?"

"Yeah," she lied, standing upright. "Yeah… Kyle was sitting on the left side, by the window." She crossed over to a set of charred seats near where the front of the plane would have been and knelt down behind them. It was where he'd been sitting… She remembered seeing his face through the window.

"Definitely no accident," Mozzie said softly.

"Did you ever think it was?"

"No."

She stared at the seat. "Mechanical failure wouldn't cause an explosion by the door."

"I bet it was set to explode the plane in midair."

She'd already considered that. "It went off early."

Mozzie was silent for a moment. "Or, someone set it off early." His voice was small. He paced away, stepping onto the piece that had once been the cockpit.

"What about the black box?" she wondered.

"The whole tail's missing," Mozzie reminded her.

Before she could think too much about it, a man's voice called out to them from across the hanger. "Excuse me. Who are you?"

Nora glared up at Mozzie. "You said the guard's route takes fifteen minutes," she mouthed.

"That's not the guard," he protested.

She sighed, pushing herself up. "Just follow me on this one."

The man glanced between the two of them, eyeing them suspiciously. "What are you doing in here?" he demanded.

"Good morning," she said brightly. "We're with Sterling Bosch." She glanced down at the name tag clipped to his tie, proclaiming him to be Roy Disson of FAA Security. "You're Roy?"

Mozzie hopped down from the cockpit. "Where you been, Roy? Unlike you, we're on a schedule here."

Roy stared at them, confused. "Sterling Bosch? Insurance?"

"Yeah," Nora agreed.

"Well, no one told me you were coming," Roy huffed. "I thought Wentlow Holdings was handling this claim."

"They were," Nora dismissed. "Where's the cockpit voice recorder?"

"Oh, that's been logged in with NTSB in Washington."

Nora shared a glance with Mozzie. "I hope you made a backup," she said, voice low and dangerous. She and Mozzie paced away.

"Insurance?" Mozzie whispered.

"Just trust me on this."

"Listen," Roy called, "how'd you guys get in here?"

"We _walked_ in," Mozzie said, exasperated.

"Your security is abysmal," Nora chided.

Roy sighed. "We have one guard for four hangers."

"Good to know," Mozzie mused.

"Listen, we made a copy of the voice recording," Roy explained. "I only handle the physical evidence. I don't have access to the recording."

Nora considered this, looking back at Mozzie. "When's our flight leave?"

"Two hours."

She looked expectantly at Roy. "I can have FAA send a copy to you," he offered helpfully.

"That would work," Mozzie decided

"Yeah, I guess that would work," she allowed.

Roy nodded. "I'll have them send it to Sterling Bosch. What's you name?"

Nora hesitated. "You know, why don't you have him send it to my insurance investigator, Spencer Ellis?" She handed over Spencer's business card, thankful he'd decided to be funny before driving off.

Roy read the card. "I can do that."

"Great," Nora said, dropping the angry act and flashing him a sweet smile. "I'll follow up with a call tomorrow morning."

"Alright," Roy agreed. "Ask for my assistant, I'll give her a heads up."

"Thanks, Roy."

"Bye, Roy," Mozzie muttered.

Roy turned and went back the way he came, and they started for the stairs. Nora paused, lingering by the wreckage as she looked over it once more. Mozzie rubber her shoulder lightly. "Hey, we'll get it."

"Yeah."

"Who's Spencer Ellis?" he wondered.

"Oh, you weren't at my trial," she said, scowling. "He was."

"Oh."

"Yeah."


	28. Long Flight

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Long Flight

Nora was still complaining about Spencer when they returned to the office the next morning. "He testified against me," she huffed as they stepped off the elevator.

"I testified against you," he reminded her.

"Oh, that's different," she dismissed, though Peter wasn't sure _how_ it was different. "How can I work with him? I'm the cunning art thief who slipped through his fingers."

"I don't think he used those words."

"No, but he looks at me and sees dollar signs." Peter bit back a laugh. He was sure Spencer saw _something_ when he looked at her, but he wasn't convinced it was strictly dollar signs. Peter might not have been the best at flirting himself, but he knew it when he saw it. "He's gonna come after me again for the Raphael."

"Do you have it?" She stared at him dryly. Of course she had it. "Okay, there's a hundred million in stolen bonds out there. He knows this case better than anybody. Right now, we're on the same team, so play nice."

Nora huffed. "He-"

"No."

"I'm-"

"Don't."

"But-" He held up a finger, giving her a stern look. She scowled. "Fine."

"Good." He clapped her on the shoulder and ushered her up the stairs. Spencer was waiting in the conference room with Diana and Jones and a slew of other agents. "Start a conversation," he advised.

She rolled her eyes, but walked up to him, plastering a placid look in place. "Spencer, I think we got off on the wrong foot," she said graciously. "Let's start over."

Spencer spun around, staring at her quizzically, hands buried in his pockets. "You wanna be friends?"

She smiled. "Why not?"

"Okay, what? Coffee, grab a bite?"

"Sure," she agreed with a shrug.

"How about dinner?" Nora's cordial smile dropped, replaced with wary confusion. "Or maybe a movie? You like classics, right?"

"Good memory," she allowed.

Diana leaned over to Peter. "Are you worried about him and Nora?" she muttered.

He smirked. "Not at all."

"You name the date, Nora," Spencer offered. "I would love to spend some time with you." Nora nodded slowly. "Anything to keep you talking." He snagged a voice recorder off the table and held it up with a smirk.

"You're recording me?" she asked dryly.

"Mm-hmm. Everything you say to me can and will be used to nail your ass to the wall and recover my painting."

Annoyed, Nora spun around. "Everything okay, Nora?" Peter asked. She opened her mouth, but closed it, remembering she was being recorded. "What's that?" With an eye twitch, she forced a broad grin and shot him a thumbs up.

Diana giggled. "I could get used to this."

Deciding to spare Nora further torment, Peter got things started. "Okay, people." Nora took a spot along the wall, away from Spencer's recorder. "You know Spencer Ellis from Sterling Bosch. Thanks to his intel, we have subpoenaed coded emails between an alias we think is Edgar Halbridge and a woman in Hamburg he calls Ms. Black." He passed out files quickly.

"The emails use a public key encryption," he continued. "We've cracked most of them. We believe Ms. Black is a courier. Halbridge has paid her a one-time fee to enter the US and get the bonds out of the country."

"The bonds are transferable?" Nora asked, the case taking precedence over Spencer's threat.

"No title," Diana explained. "Whoever holds them owns them."

"Each certificate is worth two hundred grand," Jones noted.

"So, a stack of a hundred million dollars is this thick?" she mused, holding up her thumb and first finger about two inches apart. Diana nodded. "Halbridge is taking a huge risk using a courier."

"I'd take the risk," Spencer chimed in, and Peter got the feeling it was just to argue with Nora. She glanced down at him, eyes narrowing just a little, but there was humor in it.

"The plan is to intercept Ms. Black when she transfers planes in Toronto," Peter said. "Then, we put Nora into her place here in Manhattan."

Nora raised an eyebrow. "Well, thank you for the heads up." She stared at him pointedly. "You said you cracked _most_ of the emails? What's in the ones you haven't?"

That, of course, was the problem with the plan. "Don't know."

"Halbridge won't recognize Ms. Black?"

"From the vernacular of the emails, we think she's an American expat. The last email says Black will be the woman wearing a leather jacket and carrying a copy of 'Atlas Shrugged,' which tells me he doesn't know what she looks like." She nodded slowly. "Let's make this happen."

The agents started clearing out. Spencer stood and started for the door, brushing past Nora. "You're welcome," she called after him.

He wheeled around to her. "For what?"

She smirked up at him. "Well, I recover the bonds, and your cut is two million."

"Oh," he said lightly, corners of his lips tugging up. "See, I thought the bureau needed _me_, given their recovery rate is less than twenty percent."

Nora's brow furrowed and she glanced over to Peter. "Is that true?"

"That's the bureau's recovery rate," he dismissed with a pointed look at Spencer. "Not mine." He pushed past Nora, clapping her on the shoulder and motioning for her to follow him into his office.

* * *

Something about the undercover job didn't sit right with Nora. They didn't have all the facts, and that made her uneasy. Peter tried his best to reassure her that it would be fine, and she let it go, but it still nagged at the back of her mind.

Peter sent her home with a bundle of clothes, and she returned donning a black leather jacket and what Peter liked to call a 'cat burglar' outfit. Her hair was straightened until with was sleek and shiny. Upon returning, she found Peter and Diana waiting at her desk. She lifted her leg on the desk for Diana to remove the anklet, the bars of light going from green to yellow.

"Canadian authorities have detained Ms. Black in Toronto," Peter explained, "but they left her name on the flight manifest at JFK."

"As far as Halbridge is concerned," Diana added, "Black lands in an hour."

"We've duplicated her wardrobe and every item she had on her. Diesel jacket, leather wallet, and copy of-"

"'Atlas Shrugged,'" Nora noted. "Ms. Black's a lone wolf." She picked up a candy bar that sat by the book. "Mitternacht soos?"

"German chocolate," Diana supplied.

She crinkled her nose. "Not a fan of the bittersweet." She stowed it in her pocket.

"From the airport," Peter continued, "you'll take a cab to Fort Greene. You'll wait there for a car to pick you up."

"The location's open," Diana explained. "We'll be back eight blocks. We can't get closer without risking our cover."

Peter grabbed her wrist to hold up her watch. "GPS tracker and voice transmitter in the watch. We'll be behind you. As soon as you see those bonds, we move in on him."

"What's the activation phrase?" she asked.

"You'll say 'long flight,' we'll be there." There was a reassurance in his voice that Nora took comfort in.

"'Long flight,'" she echoed. "Should I be getting a recovery fee? Because Spencer gets two percent, and I feel like I'm doing the heavy lifting here."

Rolling his eyes, Peter pressed the book in her hands. "Move." Without a word, she headed out, casting a final glance back at them before pushing her way through the glass doors. She hoped she just imagined the grim uncertainty on their faces.

It was dark by the time she stepped out of the cab at Fort Greene. While Nora was used to operating in high-stress situations, she just couldn't get over the uneasiness that pressed on her as she loitered on the empty street, waiting for the car to pick her up.

She fidgeted with the collar of her jacket. "Standing alone by a waste-treatment plant," she muttered into the watch. Even if she was alone, having the watch and knowing Peter was listening on the other end soothed her nerves. "Oh, car coming. Black limo, arriving from the south.

The limo came to a stop beside her and the driver stepped out, a stern-looking man who scrutinized her as he came around the car to open the door. She noted a gun tucked in a holster under his jacket before sliding in to the empty back seat. Well, empty aside from a briefcase.

The driver closed the door and returned to the driver's seat a moment later. "Everything is as you requested," he informed her. "Your gloves, your briefcase." Curious, she pulled it into her lap and popped it open. Her stomach dropped into the seat. A gun was neatly encased in padding inside. "Is everything in order? That is the correct gun?"

She drew in a deep breath, fighting to keep her cool. One thing was for sure, Ms. Black was _not_ a courier. "Yeah." The driver watched her from the rear view mirror. "Sure was a long flight."

"What was that, ma'am?"

"Oh," she muttered, rubbing her shoulder to get the watch next to her face. "I said it sure was a long flight."

_Please hurry, Peter_.

The driver put the car in drive and off they went. Nora studied the gun as they went. "Ruger Mark 2 with tactical solutions receiver," she mused. "Red dot holographic sight. Good."

"As you requested."

"Couldn't carry this with me on my long flight, could I?"

"Everything else is in place," the driver assured her.

"That's fantastic," she muttered under her breath.

"Everything alright, Ms. Black?" the driver asked pointedly. With an inaudible sigh, she sat the case on the seat beside her and started assembling the pieces of the gun. It was one of the very few times she was glad she knew so much about guns, despite her intense disdain for them as a whole. She made a good show of it, for the driver's sake.

"How much farther?" she asked.

"We're close." She stared out the window, focusing on keeping her breaths even. Before long, they slowed to a stop outside some nice apartments. "Target's on the first floor. I'm here if there's any resistance."

"Stay here," she insisted, pulling the gloves on and tucking the gun in her waist band after double checking that the safety was on. "Keep the engine running."

She stepped out into the chilly night air. She walked slowly, shooting wary glances over her shoulder. "Any time you guys wanna break that safe distance you're maintaining," she muttered, "I'd appreciate it." A woman walked past, and she shut up for a moment. "Have I mentioned how _long_ my flight was? 'Lawrence of Arabia' long."

She sighed, coming near the door. "I hope you guys are close because I think I'm supposed to kill somebody. I'm walking into a house with a loaded gun. Please stop me. My driver has a gun, also. If I don't do this, he might. So, I'm gonna go through with this until you get here."

It was child's play getting in. She crept slowly through the darkened apartment, holding the gun in front of her on the off chance her driver caught a glimpse of her through a window, silently praying a team of agents would descend on them any second.

The bedroom was easy enough to find, and she hugged the wall, gently bumping the door open with her hip. A man laid on his side in the bed, back to her. He shifted in his sleep and she paused for a moment. Drawing in a deep breath, she stepped through the door.

"Freeze!" the man shouted in a booming voice, springing to his feet and aiming a gun of his own at her. She yelped, her gun dropping to the floor.

"Wait, don't shoot!" she plead, holding her hand in front of her, heart pounding.

"Caffrey?"

Nora squinted through the darkness. "Spencer?"

Spencer stared at her in disbelief. "This is because I won't let the Raphael go," he growled.

"No," she protested, "this isn't what it looks like."

His hand tightened on the gun. "It looks like you're here to kill me."

"Okay, it is what it looks like. I was sent here to kill you." He pulled the hammer back, the soft click sending ice through Nora's veins. "Ms. Black from Hamburg isn't a courier, she's an assassin."

"Right," Spencer spat.

"There's a driver outside," she insisted, "he's armed. He may come in here if he doesn't see muzzle flashes."

"I can make that happen."

Nora licked her lips, racking her brain for any defense she could offer to stop Spencer from killing her, when the phone rang. Spencer jumped, staring at it as if it showed up to the party with a gun too. "That's probably Peter," she said. "Look, I'm kicking the gun away. Answer the phone." She nudged the gun a few feet away with the toe of her shoe, staring at Spencer with pleading eyes.

With one hand, he put the phone on speaker, not lowering the gun a hair. "This better be Peter."

"It is," Peter assured him. "Tell me you haven't shot Caffrey yet."

"No, not yet."

"That flight was long, Peter," she huffed.

Spencer continued glaring at Nora. "Who wants me dead?" he demanded.

"Halbridge," Nora said.

"Peter, is that true?"

"It looks that way, yes." Spencer lowered the gun, and Nora let out a breath of relief.

He looked so utterly defeated, Nora felt kinda bad for him – well, as bad as she could feel for someone who'd just had a gun trained on her, ready to pull the trigger. "We can arrest the driver outside," she offered, "work him to get to Halbridge."

"That doesn't guarantee we'll recover the bonds," he protested.

She shrugged. "What do you suggest?"

He considered it for a moment. "Let him think I'm dead," he decided.

Spencer came around the bed and scooped up Nora's abandoned gun. He aimed it at the ground, Nora making sure to stand well away from him, and fired off three shots into the floor. He offered her the gun. "Congratulations, Caffrey. You've killed me."

She stared at him for a moment, trying to think of something to say. _I guess they don't make greeting cards that say 'sorry I broke into your home with a loaded gun to murder you.'_

Spencer seemed to understand, offering a single curt nod. She made a hasty retreat. The driver was idling outside. "It's done," she huffed. "Let's go."


	29. Making Friends

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Making Friends

Nora's nerves were frayed by the time she made her way back to the office. The dawn hours were swiftly approaching, but there was too much to do for them to call it a night. He doubted Nora would sleep much, even if he did send her home. Instead, they focused on the case.

"What about the gun?" he asked.

"I left it in the briefcase for the driver to dispose of," she admitted. Peter huffed in frustration. "I know, but apparently, that was part of my plan."

He let it go; there was nothing to be done for it. "We intercepted EMTs and NYPD," he explained. "We put out reports that he's confirmed dead."

"Where's Spencer now?"

He glanced at something over her shoulder and his brow furrowed. "Jones was taking him to the safe house."

"I took her to the safe house," Jones sighed from the doorway. "He didn't want to stay."

Spencer followed Jones in, a small dufflebag in hand. His hair was unkempt, and he wore nothing but a pair of boxers and a faded t-shirt, likely not having time to get changed before being whisked away by Jones.

"Why not?" Peter asked.

Spencer glanced between them. "Gentlemen. Nora."

Nora smirked up at him. "You're really redefining 'business casual,'" she teased.

He shot her an icy glance. "Hardly recognized you without the Ruger."

"You should step out," Peter advised her.

She didn't need to be told twice. "I think I'll step out," she agreed.

Two agents lingered by the door with a cart of boxes. "My files on Halbridge," Spencer noted. "Please put them in there." The agents wheeled them into the conference room. He stared down at Peter blankly. "First thing's first: I need pants." He followed the agents into the conference room.

"Jones," Peter sighed, "find him some pants." That wasn't a request Peter made often, and Jones, amused, left to try and track a pair down.

Peter met Spencer in the conference room. "What are you doing?" he asked, taking in the man's haggard appearance. "You okay? It's been a rough night. You should get some rest. We'll talk on the way to the safe house."

"I'm good," Spencer insisted.

Peter raised an eyebrow. "You're staying?"

Spencer met his eyes evenly. "Peter, I was woken out of a dead sleep by Nora Caffrey standing over me with a gun." Peter sighed. It was less than an ideal situation, to be sure, and to be honest, Peter probably would have had a very similar reaction… If he didn't know there was no chance Nora would come after him with a gun without there being some explanation behind it. "I would love to be somewhere I can trust… Any progress on the pants?"

"Jones?" Peter called.

Jones rushed up the stairs with a larger dufflebag. "Here's your bag."

"Thank you."

"Where are you going to sleep?" Peter prompted.

Spencer was already rifling through the bag. "I will be fine. Something about an attempt on your life really gets the blood flowing, like a double shot of Redbull and espresso." He found a pair of pants and pulled them on quickly. "I think I just invented a drink. You guys got any scotch?"

Peter chuckled under his breath, worried about the man, and leaned over to Jones. "Get a cot, bring it up here."

"You got it."

"It's been a while since somebody wanted me dead," Spencer continued. Peter stared at him. "Don't look so surprised." For some reason, he really wasn't. "The question is, why does Halbridge want me dead?"

"Which means what's special about you?"

He considered it for a moment. "I play a mean cello." Peter laughed. "I work for Sterling Bosch. I can be replaced. Kill me, another investigator takes over and Halbridge knows that. So, honestly. Why me?"

"Spencer," Peter said evenly. "We'll figure this out. We are gonna get this guy."

He nodded once. "How's the coffee around here? We have a lot of work to do."

* * *

By the time Nora made it home, she was simultaneously beat tired and too keyed up for sleep. "You were supposed to be here an hour ago," Mozzie huffed from the couch.

She glared down at him. "Yeah, well, we can't all spend our nights sipping wine on my couch."

"Not with that attitude, you can't."

"I was a little busy posing as a professional killer," she huffed.

He waved his hand dismissively. "As you said."

Her brow furrowed. "Are you tipsy?"

"A little bit," he admitted.

"Where's the cockpit recording?"

He sat up, and she took a seat in the chair across from him. "I checked with Roy's office. The package from the FAA arrived at Sterling Bosch earlier today, care of Spencer Ellis."

She stared at him expectantly. "So what happened?" she prompted. "Where is it now?"

He stared at her as if it was obvious. "You went and killed him is what happened." She sighed. "It's under lock and key while they investigate his 'death.'"

She shrugged. They'd worked with less. "Okay, we'll find a way into Sterling Bosch."

"Look," he sighed, "your best chance is to wait until Rip Van Winkle wakes up from his dirt nap and snag it then." She ran a hand through her hair. That might prove problematic. "I'm guessing you're not his favorite person at this moment."

"No."

"Then I would suggest cozy-ing up to him."

That was the last thing she wanted to do. "He put a gun on my face."

"And cocked it?"

"Yeah."

Mozzie sighed, taking a sip of his wine. "You've come back from worse."

~OoO~

After a long, restless night, Nora finally dragged herself out of bed. She'd thought long and hard about how best to cozy up to Spencer, and thought maybe a humorous approach might do the trick. With that in mind, she headed to the office with a small present.

Spencer had been busy in the night, it seemed. A small cot was tucked in the corner and he had boxes of files sprawled out through the conference room, papers scattered over the tabletop as he poured over them. He was slightly bedraggled, his hair un-styled and beard untrimmed. There were dark circles under his bloodshot hazel eyes.

"Wow," Nora mused, taking a look around the room, "love what you've done with the place."

"What do you want, Caffrey?" he asked dryly.

"Look, I feel bad about last night," she admitted, not a lie in the slightest. "So, I brought you a little housewarming gift." He raised an eyebrow. "I know how much you've been wanting this." With a smirk, she held up the gift.

He scowled. "The Raphael you stole."

"No, but it's a nice print of a stolen Raphael." She tapped the price tag on the top corner. "It says it right here."

He laughed under his breath. "Homey."

She sat it against the wall. "Yeah, and if we're working closely on this case-" He sat the voice recorder on the corner of the table. "Really?" she huffed, crossing her arms. He just shrugged. Rolling her eyes, she snagged the recorder and held it up to her mouth. "We gonna keep doing this?"

"Really," he agreed. "Keep talking."

"'Cause I can go on all day."

"Please."

She had to give him points for dedication, if nothing else. "Hey, kids," Peter called from the doorway, "playing nice?"

"Nora brought me a gift," Spencer joked.

"Oh, the Raphael," he noted. "Cute."

"She wants something?"

Nora held up her arms, exasperated. "I can't get you a present?"

"When someone like you gets someone like me a gift, there's a reason." Spencer turned back to Peter. "Peter, what do you think Nora wants?"

"She's never given me a present."

She glared at him. "I sent you birthday cards," she protested.

"It wasn't a present." He stared at her evenly. "Do you want something from Mr. Ellis?"

"I want him to stop pointing guns at me."

Peter chuckled. "That can be arranged. Sit. Let's talk about Halbridge." She pulled up a chair. "Spencer, why do you think he wants you out of the way?"

"I don't know," Spencer sighed.

Peter started rifling through the papers on the table. "What do you have in your files that we don't have?"

Spencer considered that for a moment. "Well, I dug deep. Stocks, security, all his land holdings, tenant lease agreements."

"We've already seen all that," Nora dismissed.

"I believe so."

Something sparked in Peter's eyes. "Ms. Black," he mused, "when was the first email sent to her?"

"Good," Nora allowed, "figure out when he arranged the hit."

Peter leafed through some papers. "Yeah, yeah, alright, here it is. Five weeks ago, what were you digging into?"

"Five weeks ago?" He paused, closing his eyes to think. "This," he decided, pulling a file from a box at his feet. "It's Ridgemont. Ridgemont is an apartment complex on West End Avenue. It's the first place that Halbridge lived when he came to New York." He handed Peter the contents of the file.

"He bought it for nostalgia?" Nora guessed.

"It's a classic six," Peter noted, looking over some photos. "Maybe Halbridge is into pre-war architecture."

"Maybe," Spencer allowed, "but he's renovated all his other properties except for Ridgemont."

Peter nodded slowly. "There's something there he doesn't want to let go of."

"Yeah… You should ask him."

"Doubt he'll discuss it with the FBI."

Nora blinked, an idea brewing. "You think he'd talk to Ms. Black?" Based on the looks on their faces, they did, in fact, think he'd be more inclined to talk to Ms. Black.


	30. Fresh Air

Chapter Thirty

Fresh Air

Back in her all-black attire, hair once again a smooth, straight sheet down her back, she climbed the spiral staircase leading up to Edgar Halbridge's office. The driver from before waited for her on the landing at the top, arms crossed in front of him. "If you have a weapon," he said sternly, "I'll take it."

"I don't."

He eyed her suspiciously. "I'm gonna check."

He started patting her down, and she shoved him away roughly. "Hey, get your hands off me," she growled. He grabbed her by the wrist.

"It's alright, Nico," a man said from behind. With a glare, Nico backed down. Halbridge was coming down from a second flight of stairs, looking her over inquisitively. "What is so important that you need to see me in person?"

She glared up at Nico. "You wanna do this in front of him?"

Halbridge regarded him for a moment. "I'm more comfortable that he stays," he decided, leading her into his office. "Did you enjoy your trip to New York?"

"It isn't over yet."

"It should be," he said tightly, gesturing for her to take a seat as he rounded his desk. "Your business, as I understand it, is complete."

"Not quite." She sat, eyes raking over his desk quickly. "I'm here to talk about Ridgemont."

His face betrayed nothing, and he shrugged. "That supposed to mean something?"

"You hired me to kill a man," she reminded him.

A dark shadow crossed his face. "This conversation is over." He motioned for Nico to remove her, but Nora would not be deterred.

"I asked myself, 'why kill him?'" she continued, and Nico paused. Halbridge stared at her, eyes narrowed. "He must mean something to you. So, before I took care of him, we had a little talk, and he had a lot to say about Ridgemont Apartments."

Halbridge smiled tightly. "If you're insinuating that I had some man killed, what makes you think that I won't have you killed right where you sit?" Once again, he gestured at Nico. This time, the man moved to pull the gun from a holster under his jacket.

Nora pulled it from her own waistband. "That crossed my mind," she said with a sweet smile. She cocked it and the bullet in the chamber popped out; she caught it with a flourish. Nico stared at her, bewildered, as she pulled the clip out. Halbridge went very pale.

"Here's what happens now," she continued, voice sweet as honey. "You're gonna transfer $2 million into my account. You got forty-eight hours or the FBI gets a call telling them to look into any connection between you and Ridgemont Apartments."

He swallowed hard, but held her eyes evenly. "Liquidating $2 million in assets will take some time," he protested.

"You're a wealthy and resourceful man. You'll think of something."

"If I don't?"

She stood, and sat the bullet pointedly down on the desk with the most innocent smile she could muster. "You got a lot more to lose than I do, hon." She lingered by the desk, holding his eyes for just a moment before heading out the way she'd come. Nico didn't follow after, and she put the clip back in and tucked his gun back in her waistband, double checking that the safety was engaged.

Out on the street, she glanced over her shoulder to make sure she wasn't being followed before stepping into the Municipal Utilities van. Peter, Diana, and Jones were waiting for her inside. "We were right," she announced, pulling the gun back out and handing it over to Peter. "Ridgemont was the way in."

"Good," he said, gingerly unloading it. "Jones, Diana, keep monitoring Halbridge's phones and assets.

"There are plenty of places to plant a bug in his house," she offered. He spun around and glared at her. "If you wanna go that way."

"You're playing with guns," he said firmly, "I'm not letting you back in there."

She shrugged. "Just let that simmer."

"What happens if he actually transfers the two mil to Ms. Black?" Jones wondered.

Nora laughed. "It'll be a good day for Ms. Black."

"I got a team watching Ridgemont," Peter said, getting them back on track. "If Halbridge makes a move, we'll figure out what's so important in there."

* * *

Mozzie was waiting for her at the apartment when she returned. She ignored him long enough to get changed. He browsed though her wine shelf while she stood in front of the mirror, carefully recurling her hair.

"Now, explain to me why you were in that outfit," he mused. "Amature production of 'Grease?'" She cast a glance at him over her shoulder, laughing under her breath. "I do think you'd make a sublime Sandy Olsson… well, post-Thunder Road race, of course."

"Goody-two-shoes turned bad girl… It's like you don't know me at all, Moz," she chided.

"Well, maybe the _inverse_, then," he ammended.

She rolled her eyes. "I went back under as a hitman," she explained.

"Ah, can't keep yourself from terrorizing Spencer."

"No, we're trying to force a suspect into..." She paused, glancing over at him, as if she suddenly realized who she was talking to. "Why are you still here?"

He had one of her bottles of white wine in his hands, studying the label. "Oh, you have a better wine selection than I do," he dismissed.

"Love your honesty," she muttered, smoothing the last curl into place and unplugging the curling iron.

"Truth is the first chapter in the book of wisdom," he mused, "and this Malbec is a little dry." He gestured to a glass he'd already poured.

She just rolled her eyes, unable to keep herself from smiling at his usual quirky self. She sat down at the coffee table and started pulling on a pair of heels. "I've gotta get back to the bureau."

"So, any progress with Spencer?" he wondered, picking up the glass of Malbec and joining her.

"He's still camped out in the conference room"

Mozzie chuckled. "Still? Where's he sleeping?" She glanced up at him with a knowing smirk. "He's sleeping in the conference room?"

She nodded, laughing. "His bed's tucked into the corner. He had Jones drag in half his wardrobe."

He sat on the couch, legs crossed as he sipped on his wine. "Well, I guess you _can_ take it with you. Sounds like he's in for the long-haul."

"I guess."

"That can't be fun."

Nora scoffed. "For him or for us?"

"Either. The suit can't force him into a hotel?"

Nora rolled her eyes. "Oh, Peter agreed to this. He's under protection, so he can't leave the building."

He huffed, contemplating the prospect for a moment. "You can't crack a window, _and_ no room service? I mean, seriously, who can survive like that?"

She was about to remind him that she had spent four years like that, in prison. But was stopped by an idea. Maybe she could solve her problem of Spencer hating her… with Spencer's problem of being trapped in the FBI? Mozzie just continued to sip on his wine, oblivious to the fact that what he'd said was simultaneously stupid and genius.

* * *

Spencer lingered by the coffee maker. He looked rundown, tired, and generally on his last nerve. _Perfect_. Stress leads to people letting their guard down, and a con artist's entire business was getting past people's defenses.

"Coffee for breakfast, lunch, and dinner," she mused, joining him casually.

He sighed, not looking anywhere near thrilled to see her. "I heard Halbridge bit." _All work and no play makes Spencer a dull boy_.

"Yeah. We got a team at Ridgemont. How's everything going with you?"

He smiled tightly, silent for a moment. "I hate this coffee," he admitted, nose crinkling with distaste. "I hate eating food out of foil. And the air in here is stale."

"Cabin fever."

He nodded, still smiling, and looking like he was hanging on by a thread _this_ close to snapping. "I'm very sick of this place."

"We should get you some fresh air," she offered.

"Well, that's a little hard when you can't leave the FBI," he said bitterly.

She smirked at him. "Oh, come on," she chided. "You gotta think outside the box." She walked back toward her desk, Spencer watching her go with mute curiosity.

Twenty minutes, later everything was all set up. Spencer had retreated back to the conference room, burying himself in his files again. "You hungry?" she called from the doorway.

"Pass," he dismissed, not looking up. "I told you, I'm sick of food that comes from foil."

"Well, lucky for you, what I had in mind is entirely foil-free."

This caught his attention, and his eyes snapped up to hers. "Go on."

She smirked. "Why ruin the surprise? Come on, you need the break." Slowly, reluctantly, he stood and followed her out to the elevator. They rode all the way up. From there, it was a short flight of stairs up until they reached their destination.

"The roof," he muttered, glancing around as they took a seat at the make-shift picnic Nora had set up. Chinese take-out, wine, candles. Aside from the roar of the wind and the honking of cars down below, it was actually pretty nice.

"Yeah, it's still the FBI."

"Yeah," he laughed.

She admired the view. "You know the secret to living with rules?" she asked.

"Finding ways to bend them?" he guessed, holding up the evidence tag from the wine glasses for emphasis.

"Exactly," she agreed, raising her glass a little as a small toast. They both took a deep sip.

He was silent for a moment. "Well, go on," he prompted, "I'm fascinated."

"I'm not gonna tell you about the painting," she said firmly.

"That's too bad."

She smirked at him. "You know what they say about curiosity."

He considered that for a moment. "Curiosity can't kill me if I'm already dead," he decided. That sounded like something Mozzie might say after a couple glasses too many, thinking it deep and profound.

She decided not to say that. "So, what's it like?" she asked instead.

"Hm, being dead? So far, it's what I imagine prison must be like."

She stared at him dryly. "You're equating prison and death?"

He thew his hands up, exasperated. "Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot I was talking to an expert." He stared out over the city. "Hear the violins, Nora. You've got two miles, I have a conference room."

"Aw," she mocked, "you're indoors for two days. I got this for four years." She held up her leg, showing off the anklet.

He drew in a deep breath. "Do you really wanna keep doing this?"

"No, not really," she admitted. Neither spoke for a moment, just watched as the sky grew slowly darker. "Beautiful."

"Yeah… Nothing's changed." She blinked, surprised by how small his voice sounded. "I'm dead. The city looks the same."

She sighed. As bitter as she'd been about his prison jabs, she could see how hard all of this was on him. "As far as the world knows, you're no longer in it, but it keeps turning."

"Yeah," he sighed, "certain things..."

"Humble you?" she guessed.

He met her eyes for a moment. "Well, I was gonna say really piss me off," he admitted, corners of his lips tugging up, "but, okay, yeah, sure." They both laughed. "Yeah, humble me."

"Alright… So, what, your passing didn't make a big enough splash?" she teased.

He shrugged lightly. "I guy can hope."

"Parents?"

"Deceased."

"Brothers and sisters?"

He glanced down at his lap. "Only child."

No family… alone. Nora felt for him, she realized very suddenly. She really did.

"Goldfish?" she tried, hoping to bring the mood up a little.

"No," he admitted with a smirk. His face grew serious again, and he held her eyes. "What do you want from me, Caffrey?"

She shrugged, offering a light smirk. "Who says I want anything?"

"I do. You're a con-woman. You smile for a living." It dropped, just a hair. "And you're smiling at me right now, so I know that you want something."

"Alright," she sighed. Spencer waited, expectant. "I would love… for you to pass me that fortune cookie." He handed one over, disappointed with her obvious deflection, and they each tore them open. "You first."

He cracked his cookie open and pulled out the slip of paper. "Apparently, excitement and intrigue follow me." She pulled her own cookie apart. "How about you?"

"I make delicious soups." That was certainly a new one for her.

Spencer scoffed. "Confucius has you pegged."

"It's true, actually. I do."

"Yeah?"

Before she could say anything else, her phone started ringing. "Hey, Peter," she greeted.

"Got word from surveillance," he explained. "Halbridge just hired a crew to do some landscaping at Ridgemont tomorrow morning."

Nora smirked at Spencer. "He took the bait?" The man's hazel eyes lit up a little.

"Yep."

Nora hung up. "Halbridge is digging up Ridgemont," she relayed. Spencer grinned, relief washing over him. Nora held up her glass. "I'll toast to that." They clinked their glasses together and took a drink.


	31. Skeletons

Chapter Thirty-One

Skeletons

Peter, Jones, and another agent waited around the corner, watching as Halbridge's construction crew carried out their work. At first, it was just standard stuff, digging up the ground with jackhammers. Then, the drilling stopped as it his something that wasn't dirt, one of the men calling for the others to hold it. "Get that up," he ordered. "Come on, guys. Get the crane over here."

"Okay," Peter muttered, pulling out his badge. "Let's see what they've found." The three agents made their way down into the construction site. "FBI!" Peter called. The men froze, all eyes on Peter. "I need everyone to put down their tools down and step away from the hole."

They complied. A team of agent joined and Peter oversaw the removal of the box, shooting a quick text to Nora to meet him. The buried object was a massive wooden crate, worn from age. Once it was safely on the ground, Nora pushed her way through a crowd of agents and construction workers. She had, for once, opted for practical shoes rather than high heels.

"Oh, hey," she mused, studying the box. "Can't be our missing bonds."

"No," he agreed. "Whatever Halbridge is hiding has been here for years."

She shrugged. "He's bound to have more than one skeleton in his closet."

"Agent Burke," one of the agents said, "open it?"

"Yeah, go ahead, get it open." They started on it with a crowbar.

It popped with a groan. Slowly, the agent opened the lid. "Oh, geeze," one of the agents muttered. A hand flew up to Nora's mouth as she spun away, squeezing her eyes tight closed.

A decayed body stared with empty eye sockets up at them. The smell was revolting, and Peter put a light hand on Nora' shoulder as she worked to keep her breathing even. "Looks like you were right about those skeletons."

After uncovering their body, he'd sent Nora home. El called as Peter was making his way up to the twenty-first floor that evening. "How's the case going?" she asked, curious from what Peter had mentioned during their previous phone calls.

"We're making headway," he said. "We just _dug up_ some new evidence."

She was silent for a moment. "That was some sort of pun, wasn't it?"

He smirked. "I could've also said we found a body of evidence," he joked.

"I get it," she laughed. "You're very, very funny."

"I'm here all week. Don't forget to tip your waitress."

She chuckled, somehow always amused by his corny jokes. "So, does that mean Spencer gets to go home?"

"Soon, I hope," he sighed.

"Well, have you talked to him?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna update him now."

"No," El sighed, "I meant have you _talked_ to him? Like a person."

Peter blinked. "I'm not a shrink," he dismissed. It was true, of course, that Spencer was having a rough time the past couple of nights, but there really wasn't much Peter could do about that. Easy for her to say 'talk to him like a person,' but that just wasn't how Peter worked; he doubted slugging him in the shoulder and telling Spencer to cowboy up would have been very reassuring."

"You've got a pretty good bedside manner, Agent Burke. Don't pretend you don't."

"Alright," he sighed, smiling, "you twisted my arm. I love you."

"I love you, too."

Steeling himself, Peter joined Spencer in the conference room. The man had his back to the door, leaning on the table as he stared forlornly out over the twilit city and turned a red carnation over in his fingers. For reasons Peter didn't quite understand, Spencer was dressed in nice black slacks, a gray dress shirt, and a black vest. "Hey," Peter said softly, "how you doing?"

"Me?" he scoffed. "I'm good. I'm fine."

"Going somewhere?" Peter wondered, gesturing toward his fancy get-up.

"No… No, I'm just pretending. Dress how you want to feel, right?" Peter nodded slowly. "Nora came by. We had a nice little chat."

"You didn't change your mind about shooting her, did you?" Peter joked.

"No, she's entirely free of bullet holes."

"Good, I prefer her that way."

"Yeah..."

Peter was silent a moment, glancing between the flower in his hand, and a floral arrangement in a vase on the table. "The flowers are a nice touch. Really brighten up the room."

"Oh," he sighed, "my company sent these to the funeral home for me."

"Right. We had everything forwarded from the funeral home," he remembered. "It's evidence."

"Yeah… It's carnations," he said bitterly, scowling out the window. "That's all I'm worth. It might as well be weeds." He tossed it down on the table.

"Well, I don't think that's fair to carnations," Peter protested. "But, I get the feeling you don't really want to talk about flowers."

"You're right. Did you find anything at Ridgemont?"

"A body."

Whatever answer Spencer had expected, it hadn't been that one. He stared at Peter, eyes wide and mouth agape for a moment. "Wha… _whose_?"

"I don't know yet," he admitted. "The clothing's from the mid-80s. Looks like a blunt force to the head. No ID, no direct links to Halbridge."

"Okay," Spencer breathed, still reeling from the surprise, "well, then what can I do?"

"Nothing." Peter leaned on the table next to him. "Tonight, you can rest." The man rolled his eyes. "That's what you can do. When this thing is over, you… can get back to your life." Peter glanced around at the clutter piled up along the walls. "Maybe find something that doesn't fit in these boxes," he advised.

"Oh, alright," Spencer huffed. "You're getting paid by the hour now."

Peter was reminded of Nora, deflecting with humor when she didn't want to let on that something was bugging her. "Okay, my advice? Get a life." Spencer raised an eyebrow. "You work too hard."

"And you don't?" he scoffed. "What is it they say? We can sleep when we're dead?"

"Good idea," Peter agreed. "You're dead. So get some rest." This, at least, got him to laugh. "Forensics will be here tomorrow. And you can jump back in then."

"Okay." Peter stood, slugging Spencer firmly on the shoulder for good measure, and headed for the door. He hadn't even stepped through the doorway before Spencer sprung to his feet and started rummaging though a box. Peter stared at him dryly.

Spencer glanced up at him, eyes wide like a child caught sneaking cookies after bed time. It was a face Peter knew all too well. "Alright," Peter sighed. "I'll make us coffee."

* * *

Peter and Spencer were already set up at the conference room table when Nora made her way into work the next morning. The two of them were bent over some papers, muttering to themselves over coffee and left-over Chinese take-out. It had taken a lot of wine to get the image of the decaying corpse – not to mention, the smell – out of her memory the night before.

Nora paused just inside the door, staring at them. They didn't acknowledge her arrival. "Did I miss a memo?" she asked.

Peter glanced up as if he'd just realized she was standing there. "No," he said earnestly.

"Were we starting earlier?"

"Forensics came back this morning with an ID on the body," he explained.

She joined them at the table. "And?"

"You're gonna love this. The body buried under Ridgemont was identified as one Edgar Halbridge." He tossed a file down in front of her.

That was certainly a surprise. "_Halbridge_ is the corpse?"

The two of them smirked. "Yep."

"So, the man we know as Edgar Halbridge is an imposter." They nodded. "Who is he?"

She sat down across from them. "We spent the morning comparing a signature of Halbridge's to signatures from every Ridgemont Apartment lease from the early to mid-80s," Spencer explained.

"We found a pretty good match," Peter added, handing her another file. "Steve Price. He was a tenant at Ridgemont, at the same time the real Halbridge was living there."

She blinked, taking it all in. "So, you think Price killed Halbridge and took his identity," she summarized. "Why?"

"The real Halbridge had no family, but was coming into some serious cash from an inheritance. Price was poor."

"So, Price knocks him off and then steals his identity," Spencer added.

"Halbridge's body is lying there at Ridgemont, driving Price crazy," Peter continued.

She nodded slowly. "His own 'Tell-Tale Heart," she mused.

Spencer groaned and forked a twenty over to Peter. She stared at them, lost. "Peter told me you would bring up 'The Tell-Tale Heart."

"Oh," she said dryly. "I'm glad my grasp of gothic fiction is a source of amusement for you."

Stowing the money in his pocket, Peter continued. "He buys the property, it isn't worth the risk of digging up the body. So, he cements over it and makes sure no one ever digs there."

Nora glanced at Spencer. "You start poking around Ridgemont. That's why he wants you killed." She nodded appreciatively. "I like it." They stared at her. "In theory."

"Yeah," Peter huffed, "but that's all it is, a theory. We've got the signature, but it isn't definitive. No, if we're gonna prove murder one, we're gonna need more evidence."

Spencer groaned again, pulling another twenty out of his wallet. "Thank you," Nora said with a grin, "pay up."

Peter glanced between them, brow furrowed. "We had a bet," Spencer admitted.

"I told him at some point you'd say 'we need more evidence.'" She tucked the bill in her pocket.

"We do," he huffed.

"And we still don't have the bonds," Spencer reminded them.

Nora leaned in, smirking as an idea stuck her. "What if we kill two bird, so to speak? Make Halbridge admit he's Steve Price and reveal the bonds."

"Great," Peter agreed. "What's the plan?"

Nora studied Spencer for a moment. "How would you feel about coming back from the dead?"


	32. Recovery

Chapter Thirty-Two

Recovery

Halbridge shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he looked over the photos Peter showed him, photos of the corpse of the real Edgar Halbridge. "This is what you found underneath one of my buildings?" he asked tightly.

"It is."

"How did they die?"

"We think it was murder," Peter explained, playing along according to Nora's plan. It would only work as long as Halbridge didn't think they were on to him.

"Unfortunate," he muttered. He handed the photo back. "Have you had any luck identifying it?"

"Not yet," Peter lied. "We'll know more when the lab work comes back, which takes weeks with older remains like this. I was hoping that you might be able to help us."

"I bought the building twenty years ago," Halbridge explained. "It's before my time."

Peter leafed through his file. "There is one thing you might be able to help us with." He slid a photo of Spencer over the desk. "I assume you recognize this man."

He studied the photo, brow furrowed. "Do I?"

"You should. Spencer Ellis, insurance investigator working with Sterling Bosch. He was investigating you concerning stolen bearer bonds.

Halbridge nodded. "Ah. Yes, I read about his recent misfortune." He handed the photo back. "What did he have to do with this?"

"Does," Peter corrected. "Present tense." The color drained from the man's face. He kept his face schooled into a mask of idle curiosity. "This photo was taken yesterday. It appears he's alive. His death was faked."

The man struggled under this revelation, licking his lips as he attempted to find the words to speak. "Why would he do that?"

"I don't know. But he was the one who tipped us off about the body. We think that he's working with another man and woman." Peter laid down a third photo, this one showing Nora dressed as Ms. Black, with straight hair and a pair of aviators, talking with Spencer and Mozzie on the street. Mozzie had his back to the camera, having pitched a fit about photos of him to be given to a man who hired a hit on someone. Spencer and Nora, however, were in perfect view.

"Who are they?" he asked, jaw a hard line.

"We don't know much about the woman," Peter admitted, "but the man's name is Steve Price, though that may be an alias, we're not sure." Fear lit up Halbridge's eyes, and he stared off in the distance. "Does that name ring a bell?"

Peter took advantage of Halbridge's distraction to plant a bug. "Steve..." the man muttered.

"Price."

He was silent for a moment before shaking his head slowly. "No."

"Well, we think these two might be targeting you in some way." Halbridge sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair. "If something comes up, please let me know. We're here to help."

Peter stood and shook his hand. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Keep those photos."

"I will."

Peter showed himself out. Jones was waiting for him in the van. "You're getting better at planting bugs than Caffrey," the agent joked, headset pressed to an ear.

"He's talking?" Peter guessed.

"Yup."

Peter picked up a headset of his own to take a listen. "She played me," Halbridge spat. "They both played me."

"How could they know about the body?" Nico wondered.

"I don't know, but they know who I am. Now, it's time to move."

Peter grinned. "Got him."

* * *

There was a knock on the door in the tune of Shave and a Haircut, and Nora opened the door to find Mozzie on the other side. "Did it work?" she asked excitedly.

"It worked." He pushed past her, heading for the counter. "Wine, please. Bringing Spencer back from the dead was brilliant," he praised.

"Sterling Bosch released the mail?"

He was too busy rifling through her bottles of wine to answer. "You had a very specific Syrah here that I wanted to try, but it's gone missing."

"I drank it," she snapped impatiently. "The pinot is fine. Moz, the mail."

"Yes, they released it," he sighed. "The package from the FAA containing the cockpit voice recording is now sitting amidst a pile of envelopes on his desk, or so I was told by a very perky assistant."

"Good."

Mozzie poured them each a glass of pinot. "So, how are you gonna get it from him?"

She considered this. "Well, if we take Halbridge down, the first thing Spencer's gonna want to do is get out of that FBI building."

"An impulse I understand," Mozzie joked.

"Sterling Bosch is on the way home."

"Think he'll stop and pick up his mail?" he wondered, sitting at the table.

Nora nodded slowly. "He's a workaholic, and everybody likes mail."

"This is true." He slid a glass over to her. "To the unopened package, and the tantalizing mystery it contains." He took a sip of his wine, but she refrained, too uneasy to drink. He glanced up at her, noting she didn't share his enthusiasm. "You want me to steal it?" he offered.

"He has a gun."

"Is it still pointing at you?"

"No. I think I've convinced him I'm not trying to kill him anymore."

He chuckled. "Well, you are a charmer."

An idea stuck, and she pulled up a chair excitedly. "I think I've got a plan that's a little less illegal than breaking and entering."

"What do you need?" he sighed.

"A car.

"You don't drive."

"I don't drive _often_," she corrected.

He shrugged. "Do you think he'll accept a ride from you?"

"Beats packing everything into a cab."

With a smirk, he lifted his glass. "I drink to your charm, m'lady." She clinked glasses with him and took the sip. And, he was right; the Syrah was better than the pinot.

* * *

Peter watched as Diana around the corner. "Steve Price?" she called, and Halbridge spun around. "FBI." She flashed her badge and turned to the bank employees standing on the steps. "Did this man just remove something from a security box belonging to Steve Price?"

"Yes," the woman from the bank admitted.

"Can I see some ID?" Diana demanded.

He handed over a passport, rather smug. "I think you'll find everything's in order." She studied it for a moment before handing it back. "If you'll excuse me."

"Where you headed, Steve?" Peter asked, coming up behind as the man spun around. His face fell. "You're under arrest for the murder of Edgar Halbridge." Halbridge just stared, dumbfounded, and Peter plucked the portfolio out from under his arm. "I wonder what's in here… Ah, goldfish." Sure enough, the samurai bonds sat inside. "These are pretty."

* * *

Peter texted Nora the good news, and she ran up to the conference room; it was better if she got to Spencer's and back before Peter made it back to the office. "Got them," she announced happily to Spencer. He was laying in his cot, reading over a file for what was probably the dozenth time.

"Oh, thank God," he muttered, flipping the file closed and tossing it aside. "I can finally take a shower that doesn't involve a sink.

She stared down at him, amused. He was already hastily stuffing things into his bags. "Huh, for some reason, I imagined the FBI had showers somewhere in the building. It's funny how we have these mental images that don't really match reality."

"Ha," he laughed dryly. "Get me a cab."

"Well, I'm headed that way."

He paused in his packing, staring up with a raised eyebrow. "You have a car now?" She flipped a set of keys in her hand with a flourish. "Which agent's ride are you about to steal?"

"Borrow," she corrected pointedly. "I'll leave a note and everything." He didn't object, just rolled his eyes and continued packing. She assumed her guess that Spencer was kind of the type to work in gray areas was spot on.

"I'll get the Raphael," she offered when he didn't say anything. "I don't want you to forget it." He glared up at her, but was more playful than serious. "You don't pack light, do you?"

He finished gathering up his things, and she helped him tote them out to the car kindly provided by Mozzie. "You know," she mused, pulling out into traffic, "the last time I drove a car, I was escaping from prison."

"Really?" he snorted. "Sounds about right. Do you even have a driver's license?"

"Sure," she said dismissively.

"A _valid _one. With the name Nora Caffrey on it?"

Feeling remarkably like Peter, she took her eyes off the road to fix him with a dry stare. "Please," she scoffed. "I can talk my way out of a traffic ticket in eight languages. I didn't carry an ID when I did have one." He just stared at her, exasperated. "What?"

"Nothing," he laughed, "I'm just curious if stealing cars and driving without a license are all standard fare for a reformed felon, or if you just get special treatment because you've somehow conned Peter into trusting you." Her grip tightened on the steering wheel, and she looked straight ahead. "What, did I touch a nerve?"

"I didn't con Peter."

"What?"

"I didn't con Peter," she said firmly. "I don't care whatever other jabs you want to make about me. If Peter trusts me, it's because he thinks I earned it." Rationally, even she didn't know why that remark stung so much, but something about it just set her blood boiling.

Spencer seemed to notice the change in her tone. "Right. Sorry, I didn't mean..." His words died, as he realized they weren't true: he _did_ mean it. "So… I don't suppose you want to tell me about the Raphael," he offered, trying to change the subject.

The corners of her lips tugged up. "I could go on and on about the Raphael." She began a long, torturous lecture about the history of the painting.

As expected, he asked her to stop by Sterling Bosch so he could pick up his mail before heading off again. He tucked the mail in his small duffle bag. Finally, the car ride came to an end. Spencer graciously agreed to let her help carry things into his apartment. She followed him in, laden with boxes. "Where do you want these?"

"Oh, you can just put them right back there," he said, gesturing absently to a spot behind her. "Thank you."

She eyed the duffle bag, laying open on the table where he dropped it before he'd headed into the bedroom. "You know, Nora," he called, "for an art thief-"

"_Alleged_ art thief," she corrected, subtly poking into the bag.

"Yeah," he scoffed. "For an art thief, you certainly have your moments."

The package was there. Her heart skipped a beat. She glanced over her shoulder in time to see Spencer turning back toward her and pulled her hand out of the bag. "Oh, I doubt you'll be saying that after a shower and a few hours of sleep," she joked.

He considered that for a second. "Yeah, you're probably right," he decided. He headed back to the table and started digging in his bag, sighing as he started pulling out the stack of mail. "Oh, brother, it never ends." He glanced over them quickly. "What's this…?" Nora's eyes locked on the FAA package. So close, yet so far.

Before she could think of a way to distract him long enough to get the package, a soft clinking reached their ears. Both of them stopped dead, eyes falling on the door as the doorknob rattled. Spencer pulled a gun from his duffle bag. Nora swallowed hard, pressing a finger to her lips, and she crept over to the door. Her heart was beating like crazy as she reached up and turned the deadbolt.

There was silence for a moment. Then, three bullets tore through the thin wood of the door. Spencer raced across to her, throwing an arm around her as they ran, crouched down low, toward the back room. They just barely rounded the corner, each standing on opposite sides of the doorway before the door burst open. Ms. Black closed it behind her.

They shared a look. Spencer's eyes were wide and full of fear, and she was sure hers matched. He nodded once, jaw set hard. Across the room, a mirror hung on the wall, and in it Nora could see Ms. Black stalking toward them with a gun drawn. The woman had a sharp, mouse-y face and slick black hair. Her eyes were cold.

"Hey," Nora called. The mirror exploded into shards. A moment later, Ms. Black rounded the corner, gun point blank against Nora's chest.

"Drop it now," Spencer snarled, pressing his own gun against Ms. Blacks skull. Ms. Black froze, clearly trying to calculate the situation. Another crash signaled Peter's arrival to the party, and she thanked whoever was listening for the man's uncanny ability to find her at the drop of a hat. "I said drop it."

"I'd listen to him if I were you," Peter advised.

Resigned, Ms. Black lowered her gun, and dropped it unceremoniously on the floor. Nora kicked it back toward Peter. Peter pushed Ms. Black toward a group of waiting agents. "Get her out of here."

Peter drew in a deep breath, staring between the two of them. His eyes rested on Nora. "What are you doing here?"

"He needed a ride." Peter rolled his eyes before the significance of that statement set in. His expression changed to exasperation. Clearly over the whole thing, Spencer pushed past the two of them. "Excitement and intrigue," she reminded him.

He smirked. "They follow me wherever I go."

"That's probably true for both of us."

"Yeah," he laughed. "Looking forward to trying that soup."

Peter, lost, stared at her. "Soup?" She just shrugged and the two of them headed out. She lingered at the door and her eyes fell on the package, now firmly out of her grasp with agents milling about. "Nora?" Peter called. With a sigh, she followed. She would just have to figure out some other way to get it.


	33. Mother of the Year

Chapter Thirty-Three

Mother of the Year

Nora checked her watch impatiently. The sun overhead was bright in the cloudless blue sky while she lingered on the street with a briefcase full of money. Her seller was late, and Nora was beginning to think the operation might be a bust.

"Twelve past four," she muttered, "still no sign of our jewel thief."

A few moments passed before a vehicle rounded the corner. Nora started across the street as a silver SUV pulled to a stop. The window rolled down, and she was surpised to see an anxious looking woman in the driver's seat. She looked Nora up and down, wary. "Let's make this quick," the woman insisted. "So, how's this work? You show me the cash, I show you the jewelry?"

Nora stared at her dryly. "You gonna let me in?" The woman licked her lips, eyes darting to the backseat. With a sigh, Nora leaned on the door. "This isn't a drug deal in a parking lot. I'm not flashing this much cash in the open." The woman, breathing heavily, shifted uncomfortably, all around uneasy and scared. Nora's eyes fell on something on the seat. A toy truck. Her heart sank. "You alone?" she asked softly.

"Please show me the money," the woman said, trying to keep calm.

Nora hesitated. _I can't… Oh, Peter's gonna kill me_. "Maybe you should reconsider," she suggested. "The right buyer would pay you twice what I'm offering." The woman shook her head adamantly and Nora drew in a deep breath to steel herself. _I tried._ "Show me the stones."

The woman handed them over and Nora took a look. They were the real deal, alright. "The deal was for a hundred thousand," the woman reminded her.

"I know how much the deal was for," Nora sighed. She glanced over to where she knew a surveillance camera was watching, caught between the case and her conscience.

"I'd like my money now," the woman said stiffly. Nora stared at her for a moment before handing the case through the window.

"It's all there… You can count it." The activation phrase stung coming out. A second later, the agents loitering on the street started moving. Nora reached through the window and snatched up the toy truck, holding it high over her head for all of them to see. "No guns," she called. "No guns, guys."

Peter rounded the corner with Diana and Jones, spying the toy truck. "Drop you weapons," he ordered. "Drop them."

An agent pulled the woman out of the car and started leading her away. She looked anxiously back at the car as Peter pulled the back door open. A little boy slept soundly in his car seat.

"Please don't take away my son," the woman sobbed from the agent's arms.

Nora glanced over to Peter. "What happens now?"

He sighed heavily. "Don't hold your breath for a mother and son reunion." She nodded soberly, watching them take her away. "What were you thinking, trying to talk her out of the deal?" he chided.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I saw the kid and I… I felt bad for her."

"That's not your call to make," he reminded her. "Why don't you get something to eat? We'll reconvene in an hour."

She nodded and headed away without a word, pausing only to hand off her watch to another agent. Back home, Mozzie was waiting for her at the table. "Hey, Moz." He smirked up at her proudly.

"How often do I say thank you?" he asked.

"Sarcastically?"

"No."

"Rhetorically?"

"Genuinely."

She stared at him for a moment. "I can't recall. Why?" She walked toward the table, wary, not sure what prompted his sudden display of gratitude.

"You've done a lot for me," he allowed, which was true, but Nora wasn't really the type to expect a lot in return. "I wanted to say thank you."

"You're welcome… There's more."

He nodded slowly. "The cockpit voice recording from Kyle's plane… last we saw it, it was in the apartment of the strapping insurance investigator Spencer Ellis."

"What'd you do, Moz?" she asked skeptically, pulling up a seat.

"I went to his apartment," he admitted.

"And?"

"You know he put in a Ranzig keypad lock?"

She, of course, had scoped out the place a time or two herself. "I noticed. People tend to upgrade their security after an attempted murder." She sighed, shaking her head lightly. "Ranzig's tough to beat."

"Not if you have the code," he amended.

She stared at him, amazed. "How'd you get it? He blocks the combination when he enters it." Learning that had required the use of a wig, lest she take the chance of Spencer recognizing her.

"Thermal scope."

It was actually genius. "Residual heat from his fingers," she mused.

He smiled, quite pleased with himself. "Impressed?"

"Yeah. So, you waited for him to leave..."

He shrugged. "It took a while. But you're gonna be very happy with what I found." He pulled the package out of his messenger bag and handed it over to her. It was still sealed. Apparently, in the couple weeks following the Halbridge case, he hadn't deigned to open all of his mail. She turned it over in her hands. There it was, but she barely dared to believe it. "Well?"

"Kyle's last words are on here."

"That's a possibility," he agreed. "It also may tell us what happened."

She sighed. The drive to listen to it that very second pressed on her like a weight… but the dread of finally hearing the recording pushed her away. "Listen, I gotta meet with Peter, I'll open this later." He stared at her, bemused, as she tucked it into a hidden cubby on the mantle. She clapped him on the shoulder as she headed back toward the door. "Thanks, Moz."

"… Of course."

She met up with Peter to get coffee before heading back to the bureau. "How's the kid?" she wondered.

"Olly? Well, he's doing as well as any five-year-old ripped from his mother's arm. We had to hand him over to Child Protective Services." He rounded on her, staring sternly. "If you thought there might've been a kid, you should have said something."

"I did," she protested.

"No, you were busy trying to talk the mother into not making a sale."

"Come on," she huffed, "Catherine McMillan is not a jewel thief."

He rolled his eyes. "You mean, no priors, she's a PTA mom who volunteers her time at the youth center on the weekends?"

"Throw a mullet on her and she's Carol Brady."

"Carol Brady had an affair with Greg Bardy," he reminded her.

She shrugged lightly. "Proof that everybody's got a dark side.

He sighed, clearly not liking the situation any more than she did. "The thing about the law, one size fits all." She didn't respond, and she didn't have to; his phone started ringing, and he fumbled through his pocket for it. "Jones, what's going on?… Alright, thanks." He hung up. "Mrs. Brady wants to talk. Wanna tag along?"

"Oh, yeah." It was a short ride on the subway to get back to the bureau. Nora, personally, wasn't a fan of the subway. Too many people, too much noise, too many miscellaneous and fowl smells for her taste. She amused herself by doing her version of people-watching: looking at various people and figuring out who would make the easiest or most interesting marks and what she would take. Of course, it was all just idle thought exercise. She had no reason to steal from any of those people, even if Peter wasn't sitting right beside her.

The agents had Catherine waiting in the conference room by the time the two of them made it up to the twenty-first floor. They took their seats across from her and Peter asked to hear what she had to say.

"Eight months ago," she explained, "I adopted my son, Olly, through an international adoption lawyer, Luke Donovan."

"Where's Olly from?" Peter asked.

"Chechnya. Mr. Donovan has connections to agencies all over Eastern Europe. A month after the adoption was finalized, he told me the Chechen birth mother had come forward and wanted Olly back." Her eyes were glassy and red, the whole situation wearing her down. "He said it was a scam the birth mothers pull sometimes."

"They don't want their kids," Nora guessed, "they want more money."

She nodded soberly. "He said I could pay her $50,000 to make her go away."

Peter's eyes softened. "But she didn't go away."

"Last week, he told me things with the birth mother had gotten complicated. That she wanted more money. He said if I wanted to keep my son, I had one week to come up with an additional hundred thousand." Peter shot a glance at Nora, and got the sense he was thinking the same thing she was; that maybe it wasn't the 'birth mothers' after the money to begin with. "Piece of cake, right?" she scoffed, voice cracking.

"One week?" Peter repeated. She nodded. "Did Donovan give you any proof that the birth mother had come forward?"

"Some papers with chicken scratches for a signature," she admitted. "I put in calls to the State Department to check out his story, but the clock was ticking. If he was telling the truth and I delayed things..."

"They'd take Olly away from you," Nora supplied gently.

"So, you decided to rob your own store," Peter continued.

"Not exactly mother of the year, I know."

He stared at her firmly. "Neither was taking your child to an exchange with a potentially dangerous fence."

Catherine held his eyes evenly. "If someone threatened to kidnap your wife, would you let her out of your sight?"

Peter didn't seem to have an answer, though Nora was sure that if that were the case, Elizabeth would have been surrounded round the clock by an armed security detail headed by Peter himself. Nora spoke up, sparing him from having to answer. "You're sure Olly's adoption was legal?"

"He has an IR-4 visa, a Social Security number..." She glanced frantically between the two of them. "He's my son. And if I go to prison, I may never see him again."

Peter excused them to go speak in private under the guise of taking a break to get some coffee. They lingered by the coffee maker, talking in low voices. "Donovan is shaking Catherine down for cash using her kid as leverage," Nora insisted, arms crossed.

"It's tough to prove," Peter sighed, notably not disagreeing with her.

"Well, maybe it's the real mother, maybe it's not."

"If Catherine calls him on it, he can just say that the real mom changed her mind and moves on to the next family."

She met his eyes evenly. "Sounds like extortion to me."

"I'm gonna pay Donovan a visit," he decided.


	34. Liar, Liar

Chapter Thirty-Four

Liar, Liar

Peter made his way alone to meet Luke Donovan. The man met him in his office, and Peter asked about Catherine. "Yes, Catherine McMillan," he mused. "I read about it in this morning's paper. Poor Olly. If there's anything I can do..."

"You can tell me why you demanded a hundred thousand dollars from her," Peter suggested.

"No, no, no," he protested, "_I_ didn't demand anything. Sometimes, the birth mothers will threaten to reclaim their children unless they're given a large sum of money. It's unfortunate, but these are the waters."

Peter stared at him. "Prove to me that Olly's birth mother came forward."

"Well, I'll be happy to give you the name of my Chechen contact, certainly," he offered. "If you need proof beyond that, feel free to charter a flight to Gudermes and find her yourself." The man smiled, but Peter didn't find anything about the situation amusing.

"Catherine told you she didn't have the money."

"Well, yes," he huffed. "I had no idea what she'd resort to get it. She's an adult, I told her the truth. She robbed a jewelry store. If I'm guilty of something, it's believing that she was a good parent." Peter wasn't sure the two things were mutually exclusive. Nora, for example, seemed to be great with children, though the image of her teaching little kids to pick locks and dodge security cameras unsettled Peter quite a bit.

Donovan spun around in his chair and pulled a framed photo off the shelf behind him. It was of a happy, smiling family, one he'd likely helped create. "I don't tear families apart, agent," he continued. "I bring them together." He sat the photo down sadly. "Sometimes it doesn't work out."

With a huff and nothing further to say, Peter left. He was more on Nora's side than had been before. As he stepped out onto the sidewalk, a man in an expensive suit shoved past him, face grim. Peter spun around, and the man disappeared inside Donovan's office.

Peter was sure he'd seen that man's face in a file at the bureau, and wondered what business he had with Donovan. For some reason, he highly doubted it was about an adoption. Back at the bureau, Peter asked Diana to pull a couple files.

His hunch was right. He sent Jones to sit on their new friend and called Nora into his office, tossing the file down in front of her. "Clark Maskhodov," she read.

"AKA Clark the Shark." She snorted. "Yeah, he likes to chew people up. He's the enforcer for Kaz Abramov." He handed her another file.

"The Chechen mob boss?" she mused, brow furrowed as she read. "What's he doing calling on Donovan?"

"Maybe he wants Donovan's help becoming a daddy?" Peter joked.

She blinked. "You think the Chechen mob is involved with these adoptions?"

"My gut tells me there's a connection."

She shrugged. "Your gut's rarely wrong," she allowed. "Where's Maskhodov now?"

"I've got Jones sitting on him, let's see where he leads us." Peter's eyes caught on a hurried movement down in the bullpen. Spencer Ellis pushed his way through the glass doors, storming toward the stairs like a man on a mission, a black briefcase in his hand. His hair, unlike the last time Peter had seen him, was back to it's usual neatly groomed state. An agent stopped him before he got too far. "What's Spencer doing here?"

Nora spun around, eyes wide. Clearly, she was just as surprised as he was. "Peter," Spencer called from down below.

Peter motioned for him to join them. "Let him up," he called back.

"You sure that's a good idea?" Nora muttered.

Obviously, she didn't, which only made Peter more curious. "I don't know. Let's ask him." With a sigh, she stood and they waited for Spencer to make his way up the stairs. "What are you doing here, Spencer?"

"I came to see Nora."

He glanced over at Nora, who looked like she would have rather been anywhere else. "Hear that? He came to see you."

"It's not a social visit," he snapped, glaring daggers at Nora. "You broke into my house again."

Peter sighed. "Really?" Nora protested. If she was surprised by the accusation, Peter couldn't tell.

"Can you prove it?" Peter asked evenly.

"I can. I'd like her to submit to a polygraph."

"I'm not issuing a polygraph," he said firmly.

Spencer smirked. "It's okay, I brought my own." He lifted up his briefcase, patting it for emphasis.

"He has his own," Peter muttered to Nora.

"I see that."

Peter turned back to the man, fighting back his annoyance at his CI. Maybe she broke into his house, maybe she didn't; unless there was evidence, Peter wasn't going to make a mountain out of a mole hill. "Spencer, if you had any proof that could justify this polygraph-"

"I'll take it," Nora offered casually, and Peter's word froze in his throat. They both stared at her, surprised by her calm and unconcerned agreement. "I didn't break into his house."

He was having a hard time believing that Spencer would come in and accuse Nora without a good reason, and he knew for a fact that Nora wouldn't agree unless she was certain she would pass. So, either really was innocent, or she was confidant in her ability to cheat the machine.

"Great," Spencer said tightly, "can I borrow an office?"

Peter sighed, knowing that neither of them would be talked out of the polygraph at this point. "This should be fun."

* * *

They cleared away some space in Peter's office and Spencer started setting up. He had insisted on sending Peter out to make sure the agent didn't interfere. Instead, he watched from the bullpen with Diana, anxiously pacing. "Alright," Spencer muttered, "state your name."

"Nora Caffrey," she said into the microphone, pressing a thumb tack into the middle of her thumb under the table. The laptop hooked up to the microphone beeped brightly.

"What color are your eyes?"

She dug the point of the tack in again. "Blue." It beeped again.

"Okay. Tell me a lie."

She considered it for a moment, staring at him with mischievous eyes. "You looked better without the beard." The beep this time sounded angry. "Voice stress analyzer?" she guessed. "Sterling Bosch standard issue."

"More portable than a polygraph and I don't have to hire an analyst," he agreed. "An unopened package from the FAA was stolen from my home. Did you take it?"

"I did not," she said, jabbing her thumb, and it was true.

"Do you know who _did_?"

"I do not," she lied.

Spencer stared at her, eyes narrowed. "The package arrived while we were working together on the Halbridge case," he explained. "The same time you started playing nice. I think there was something in that package, something you wanted. And you used me to get it." There was hurt in his voice.

She poked her thumb. "You're wrong." The happy beep sounded. She sighed. "Listen, Spencer, despite what you think, this situation has nothing to do with us." He stood, pacing away from the table. "So, why don't we call a time out, talk things over, and get past it?" He spun back around, thumbs looped in his pocket, staring at her skeptically. "Coffee, dinner, you name it. What do you say?"

He was silent for a moment, holding her eyes evenly. "I say that you're also responsible for the theft of a Raphael in April of 2005."

"I only agreed to talk about a stole package," she reminded him. "So, I guess we're done." She moved to stand.

"No," Spencer said with a cold smirk, and she sank back into her chair. "No, we're not." This was punctuated with a happy beep.

* * *

Spencer held Nora and his office hostage for nearly an hour. Peter wasn't sure how she'd managed to beat it, but she was sure she'd lied through her perfect teeth. With finally no more questions to ask, Spencer packed up and stalked out, muttering that he wasn't through with his investigation yet.

Peter glared at Nora from across the desk, and she smiled cheerfully back at him. "I took the ploygraph," she insisted.

"You cheated." She rolled her eyes, smile dropping, but she didn't deny it. "I don't know how, but you cheated. You're playing with fire. Spencer is like a tornado in a tie and you're-"

"Oh, please," she groaned, "please don't reduce me to a trailer park."

"If the shoe fits." His phone rang, and he paused to answer it. "Hey, Jones."

"I just tailed Maskhodov to the Old New York Room," Jones explained.

Peter's brow furrowed. "How long ago?"

"Ten minutes. Looks like the place is hopping."

"Good, thanks." He hung up. The problem with the FAA package would have to wait. "Clark the Shark just disappeared into the Old New York Room."

"I thought that place got shut down."

He shrugged. "Apparently, it's re-opened for business." He pulled open the file they'd compiled on Donovan. "Donovan won a Texas hold 'em tournament in Macau last year."

"There's our connection between Clark and Donovan," she mused.

"Could be. Let's find out." They stood and headed for the door. "This conversation about Spencer is not over," he reminded her.

"I didn't think it would be," she sighed.


	35. The New York Room

Chapter Thirty-Five

The New York Room

They loitered outside the Old New York Room, far enough away that it didn't look suspicious to the man standing guard in front of the door, but close enough to get a good look at the people going in and out. A man stopped by the bouncer, shaking his hand and leaning forward to whisper something in his ear.

"Bouncer and a password to get in," Nora mused, watching the bouncer knock on the door to let the man in.

"Guy talking to the girl in the purple dress," Peter noted, gesturing to a couple standing a ways away. "That's Bernie Buryatskiy. Abramov's right arm."

Nora thought for a moment, fidgeting with her hair. "Want me to see if Donovan's inside?" she offered.

"How you gonna get in?"

She smirked at him. "Call me," she instructed, pulling her phone from her purse.

"Why?"

"Well, do you want me to get in?" He sighed, but pulled out his own phone and dialing her number. She answered as the first ring started, holding it to her ear. "Can you hear me?"

"Yeah."

"Don't hang up." She started toward Bernie. He watched her go, confused. She passed behind the man, still busy talking to the woman in the purple dress, and bumped into him. As she did, she slid her phone into his jacket pocket. "Oh, excuse me. Sorry about that, sir," she apologized.

He returned to his conversation, and Nora returned to Peter, who still seemed baffled. "Can I see your phone?" she asked. He handed it over and she put it on speaker.

"Password?" they heard the bouncer ask.

"Sunny dale."

"Go ahead."

She handed the phone back to Peter. "That's great," he allowed. "What happens when Buryatskiy finds out he's got your phone in his pocket?"

She shrugged. It hardly mattered; Nora went though burners quickly anyway, that was just the one she kept for Peter's sake. If she had to get a new one, so be it. "He better keep his hands off my rollover minutes," she joked. Without waiting for him to respond, she headed toward the bouncer.

"Password?" the bouncer prompted.

"Sunny dale."

He knocked on the door, and another man pulled it open. "She's okay," he assured the man on the side as Nora slipped in.

People in expensive clothes milled about on the balcony, chatting. Nora passed them and looked out over the tables down below where games of poker were running. The players smoked and drank over their hands. She spotted Buryatskiy and the woman down below, but there was no sign of Donovan.

She made her way down, and grabbed a drink off the tray of a passing server. Buryatskiy seemed to have found other members of the Chechen mob, and they chatted. "Burya, ready for a big game?" one of them asked.

"I'm ready to win," the man agreed.

"Maybe I check your sleeves for pocket queens."

"You'll find nothing."

The men laughed. "Give me a light."

Buryatskiy checked his pockets, but was unable to find his lighter… because Nora had lifted it. She stepped forward, lighting the man's cigar for him.

"Kaz Abramov," Nora noted with a sweet smile. "It's a pleasure."

"Who are you?"

"Nat Halden. Hear you got a game going."

He looked her up and down. "Unfortunately, sweetheart, we just filled last spot for Friday night."

"That's a shame," she sighed. "At the risk of sounding immodest, my last gambling spree a few years back brought the Sun City to its knees."

"What?" he scoffed, "You want to use my establishment for your encore?"

"Wherever I play, attention follows," she boasted. "Type of attention that draws bigger players with much bigger wallets."

He met her eyes evenly. "The buy-in is $100,000."

She raised an eyebrow. "When's it get interesting?"

For a moment, he was silent. "Sam," he called. "Find my new friend here a seat for Friday night, will you? Please." He turned back to the other men.

Nora passed Buryatskiy, pausing and pretending to pluck a piece of lint for his shoulder while lifting her phone back and returning his lighter. He watched her follow after Sam, confused.

"You still there?" she asked, holding up the phone.

"Anything on Donovan?" Peter wondered.

"I'm working on it." Sam had reached her desk, and Nora hung up.

Sam typed something into her computer. "Buy-in for Friday is a hundred thousand," she told Nora. "Method of payment?"

Nora considered it for a moment before snatching up a pen from Sam's desk and jotting down some numbers from an old account she'd used back in the day. "Bank account and routing number," she lied.

"Just one moment while I verify." She turned away and Nora took the opportunity to snoop through her laptop. There was a folder titled 'Player Accounts' and Nora found the name Donovan there. Apparently, Donovan owed a modest $200,000 dollars.

"Sorry, Miss Halden," Sam called, and Nora quickly backed out of the screen, "but it appears your account has insufficient funds."

Nora's brow furrowed. "There must be some error," she protested.

"Apologies, but I won't be able to hold your spot in the game until I have the money in hand."

Nora had expected something like this. "You saw me and Abramov chatting just now, right, Sam? That was him thanking me," she lied. It was a risk, but the chances of Sam fact-checking Abramov were pretty slim. "I'd hate to tell him that the woman who saved his beloved prostitutka from the Russian diamond mines was denied access into his poker game because you couldn't overlook something as trivial as a bank error." Sam scoffed, knowing that would put her in a really bad position if it was true. "Come on."

Sam sighed. "We close to entrance one hour before the game," she explained. "And it has to be cash."

"Thank you." Nora headed out. Peter hadn't moved from his spot outside.

He shook his head in exasperation as she sauntered up to him. "Well?"

"I may have an angle on how we can take down Donovan." He nodded. "You got a hundred grand I can borrow?"

* * *

Peter and Nora returned to the office the next morning to find Jones and Diana pouring over files in the conference room. "What do we have?" Peter asked, eyeing the many boxes and papers spread over the table.

"Donovan's subpoenaed files," Jones explained. "All his adoptions look perfectly legit, Catherine McMillan's included."

"I called his liaisons in Gudermes," Diana added. "The guy corroborated Donovan's story about Olly's birth mother."

Peter sighed, reading over one of the files. "Of course he did, he's probably getting a cut of Donovan's extortion money."

"Or Donovan's telling the truth," Jones suggested.

"Oh, no," Peter scoffed. "No way he's clean. Nora did a little digging in the New York Room yesterday. Found out why Donovan was so eager to shake down Catherine."

"He's in the red two hundred grand with the Abramov crime family," Nora chimed in. "He's planning on winning it back at their poker game Friday night."

"Abramov must have him on a clock," Jones mused.

"Which means he's desperate," Diana guessed, "he's gotta win."

Peter smirked. "Exactly. What if Nora were to play Donovan in that poker game, make sure he didn't win?"

Diana grinned, seeing the plan form. "Then he'd get even more desperate."

"Desperate enough to try and shake down another adoptive parent," Jones concluded.

"How would you guys feel about going under as a couple working through a tricky international adoption?" Peter asked.

Jones glanced at Diana and shrugged. "It'd be selfish of us not to share our love with little Samir..." Diana raised an eyebrow. "-Ra. Samira." Nora chuckled, enjoying the show. "You wanted a girl?"

"This is good," Diana decided. "Nora makes Donovan desperate for cash..."

"And he extorts the two of you to recoup his losses," Nora summarized.

Nora headed home for lunch and found Mozzie waiting for her. In a huff, she explained what had happened with Spencer the day before, with the polygraph test. "So you just used a tack?" he asked, looking both impressed and exasperated. Yes, there were better ways to cheat a polygraph, but she used what she had to work with.

"He surprised me," she protested. "What else was I gonna do? It worked."

"How'd he know someone broke in?"

She stared at him dryly. "Oh, I don't know," she snapped, "a hundred failed attempts on his keypad?"

He looked away sheepishly. "That would do it..." She rolled her eyes. "So, I'm guessing you haven't listened to the fruits of my labor yet."

"No," she admitted, shrugging lightly, "I've been busy with a case."

He didn't buy it. "Nora, it's me."

She swallowed hard. Of course, he was going to see through her eventually. It was pretty obvious that she was avoiding the tape. "You weren't there, Moz," she said softly. "You didn't see it happen."

His face softened some. "I witnessed the aftermath," he reminded her gently, "figuratively and literally." She looked down at her shoes. "Look, when you're ready to listen-"

"You'll be there," she sighed.

"Yes… So, what is this case?" he asked, changing the subject.

Grateful for his not-so-smooth transition, she launched into her explanation. "I'm taking down a lawyer. He's extorting money from the parents, using their adoptive kids as leverage."

"Adopted kids?" Mozzie huffed, anger welling in his eyes. "What kind of a cretin prays on helpless adopted kids? All they want is a fair shake and a chance to belong."

"I know," she said softly. "You were adopted."

"Foster care," he corrected stiffly, "I was never adopted. How're you gonna take down this pig?"

"Poker game."

"You better win."

She grinned. "Well, that's the game plan."

"You better _make sure_ you win."

"Again, that's the game plan."

"What's his tell?"

That was the question. Nora had never met the guy, and Peter only talked to him for a few minutes. In short, she had no clue. "I will figure out his tell," she assured him.

"You do that." He sighed heavily. "Then crush him."


	36. Pressing Charges

Chapter Thirty-Six

Pressing Charges

Peter set up in the van to monitor as Diana and Jones went undercover. The two agents stepped in, dressed to the nines to sell the appearance of a wealthy young couple. "Look at you two," Peter teased. "Did I wake up in the Hamptons?"

"I don't know what you're talking about?" Jones dismissed.

"We look good," Diana insisted.

Peter glanced between them seriously. "Donovan knows the feds are looking into him," Peter reminded them. "So convincing him to take on new clients isn't gonna be easy." They nodded soberly. "Everything you need to know is in this briefcase. Salary history, legal documents, names and numbers of your Sudanese adoption contacts. Do you feel married?"

They exchanged a look. "We feel like Tanya and David Mayburn," Diana decided, grabbing Jones' hand. "A happy couple trying to adopt a six-month-old from Al-Fashir in Sudan."

Peter nodded, satisfied. "Here are some pictures of little Samira." They looked over the pictures of a baby girl.

"You wanted a girl, so we got a girl," Jones sighed. "How is that fair?"

"Excuse me?" Diana huffed, putting her hands on her hips. "Who's the one on the phone with Al-Fashir every day while you're off hitting a bucket of balls with the boys?"

They looked at Peter expectantly. "Sounds like a married couple to me," he decided. "Knock 'em dead."

They headed in and Peter listened through the headset as they introduced themselves to Donovan. The man started asking questions about their adoption, the problems they've been facing.

"It was our love of children that brought us together," Jones told him.

"Fast-forward five years," Diana added, "we've tried everything to conceive on our own, but-"

"It wasn't meant to be," Jones sighed.

Donovan was silent for a moment. "So, you decided to adopt internationally. What kept it from being finalized?"

"We don't know," Diana said. "We've been calling the agency in Al-Fashir, but-"

"Every time it's the runaround," Jones huffed. "Can't get a straight answer."

"Whatever's going on, we want it fixed." There was genuine-sounding emotion in Diana's voice. Peter had to give them credit; they could give Nora a run for her money with their impressive acting. "We heard you can make it happen."

"Really?" Donovan muttered, sounding surprised. "Who told you that?"

"Gilbert," Jones answered without hesitation. "Gilbert Lowenstein at the Hemmingson Institute. He said that you-"

"Gilbert," Donovan mused, cutting Jones off mid-sentence. "I haven't talked to him in ages. Did his daughter finish school? Oh… which one was that again?" It was a test, Peter knew, trying to weed out a potential undercover job by asking for information not pertinent to the case.

Thankfully, they were thorough. "Yale," Diana offered. "Emily graduated cum laude."

"And how is Gil doing with the divorce?" Donovan wondered.

There was no amount of research that could answer that. Peter waited with bated breath, hoping they would find some way to talk around the question. Jones went for the direct approach. "Well, with all due respect, Mr. Donovan, we're here to discuss _our_ daughter."

Donovan tisked. "Yes, and if you want my services, answer my questions."

"He's on to them," Peter muttered to the other agents in the van.

"Well," Jones sighed, "I believe the divorce was finalized last spring. Is there anything else you'd like to know about Gil? How he takes his coffee, perhaps?"

"We just-" Diana injected, voice calm. "We just want our Samira where she belongs. Here, with us. We'll do anything. Price isn't an issue."

Donovan was silent for a long moment. "Fifty-thousand is my standard retainer," he explained. "Will that be a problem?"

"Do you prefer cash or check?"

They finished up the meeting and the two returned to the van a few minutes later. "You got him to bite," Peter mused with a smile.

"Yeah, well, he's going to check us out," Jones admitted.

"Good, we got that covered."

"We're his insurance," Diana added. "He loses the poker game, it's safer to risk an FBI setup than the wrath of a mob boss."

"And he made the wrong choice."

Nora met up with him at the office later that day, eager to hear how the undercover job went. He relayed the good news, along with some news she would be more interested in. "Hughes approved the money, we got the hundred grand for the buy-in."

Her eyes lit up. "Good." He started toward the stairs, and she followed after. "But I need something else. I need some way to find out Donovan's tell so I know when he's bluffing a hand."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "You don't think you can beat him?"

She glared at him. "It hurts me that you would even ask that. I know I can," she snapped. "There's a kid at stake, I can't take any chances."

"I'll handle it," he decided.

"Peter Burke gut detector?"

He smirked. "FBI's most valuable weapons.

* * *

Friday morning. The day of the poker game. Nora was still waiting for Peter to get back to her with Donovan's tell, but she trusted him the come through. Still in a shorts and a tank top from bed, she was surprised by a knock on her door.

"Spencer?" she muttered. He looked his usual well-groomed self, with a gray suit and perfectly trimmed beard.

A slew of unfamiliar people stood behind him. "Detective Lewis," one of the men explained, stepping in.

"This is Nora Caffrey," Spencer told the detective.

The man smiled and handed her a piece of paper. "This is a search warrant."

With a sigh, Nora stepped aside and the team of detectives filed into the apartment. "We're looking for the stolen FAA package," Spencer explained.

"Points for persistence," Nora said lightly. The chances of them finding the hidden cubby were slim. The place had been a speakeasy, after all.

"A lot harder to beat than a lie detector." Spencer took a look around. "Nice place, Nora."

She rolled her eyes. "I've seen yours, you've seen mine. We're even."

He glanced over his shoulder at her. "If I snuck in here with a gun, then we'd be even." He admired the bed for a moment. "Mid 19th century tiger oak?"

"Hand-carved."

"Beautiful."

He made himself busy rummaging through her dresser. "If I stole the package, you really think I'd keep it here?"

"Why not?"

He struggled with the wardrobe's latch. "Let me help you out with that," she offered, since the package wasn't in there anyway. Despite her internal panic, she kept calm, acting like she had nothing to hide.

"Thank you." She pulled the wardrobe door open. "How did you con your way into this place?"

She scoffed. "You are convinced I don't have an honest bone."

"Give me a good reason to think otherwise," he challenged with a shrug.

She sighed, meeting his eyes evenly. "There's nothing here," she lied.

"Mr. Ellis?" Detective Lewis called. He rounded the corner, smugly holding up the package. Ice flooded Nora's blood. They were better than she'd realized.

Spencer glared at her. "I can explain that," she offered lamely. And what a great explanation _that_ would be. _Oh, I didn't steal it. My friend did. I'm just in possession of stolen goods._ Yeah, that would go over great.

* * *

Getting Donovan's tell had been child's play. All Peter had to do was call him into the office and ask some questions, get the man to lie and study his reactions. He'd tried many times to get Nora's tell, but he guessed she had learned over the years to hide them when she lied. Instead, he just had to rely on his intuition with her.

Peter showed him out and Diana came out from where she'd been hiding to make sure she wasn't seen. "You get him?" she asked.

"I got him," he assured her with a grin, closing the door behind her. "He blinks twice. Two little blinks, just like that when he lies." She stared at him, face grim. "What?"

"It's Nora.

A lump formed in his stomach. "Where is Nora? The game starts in three hours."

"She's being arrested."

"Where is she?" he demanded.

"Still at her apartment." Without wasting a second, Peter tore out of the office and bolted for the elevator. _God, damn it, Nora_.

* * *

Nora scowled as Detective Lewis pulled her hands behind her back. "You have the right to remain silent," he said, the handcuffs clicking shut around her wrists.

"I'm familiar with the speech," she dismissed and rounded on Spencer. "Spencer, this is a really bad time."

"Agent Burke," Peter called, coming through the door with his badge raised. She sighed in relief. Perfect timing, as always.

"Peter, will you please-?"

He ignored her. "What's going on here?" he asked, exasperated.

"Nora stole a package," Spencer explained, holding it up.

Peter sighed heavily, staring at her. She tried to make her face as sympathetic as possible, but she knew that it would be useless on Peter. "Detective, may I speak with Miss Caffrey, please?"

"Sure," the detective decided.

"Thank you." Spencer and the detectives stepped away, and Peter grabbed her by the arm and drug her toward the window. "Did you steal it?"

"No," she assured him earnestly.

"Mozzie?" She pursed her lips. "You realize-"

"Yes."

"You can't play if-"

"I know." They glanced back over at Spencer, who was glaring pointedly at Nora. "He's mad."

"Yeah." His eyes narrowed as he thought for a moment. "Detective. She's all yours."

* * *

Betrayal lit up her blue eyes as she stared at him in disbelief. The detective led her away, and she scowled back at him. He, of course, had a plan, but maybe seeing that he wouldn't always be able – or willing – to shield her from her own bad decisions would knock some sense into her. He highly doubted it, but one could hope.

Spencer turned to follow them out. "Spencer," he called.

The man rounded on him, hazel eyes burning with anger. "Peter, just forget it, alright?" he snapped, already knowing what he was going to say. "She broke into my house again."

"You know what that is?" Peter asked evenly, gesturing to the package in his hands.

"No," he admitted.

"I think it has something to do with Kyle Moreau. And when it comes to him, Nora's judgment is severely lacking."

Spencer huffed. "Alright, fine, why am I involved?"

"I don't know." That was the part Peter still hadn't worked out. "Look, I understand why you're pressing charges, I get it… But I'm gonna ask you not to."

Spencer scoffed. "Oh, this oughta be good."

"It's an adoption scam," Peter explained evenly, hoping Spencer was sympathetic to the plight of poor adopted kids. "There's a kid. He's caught in the middle of all this." Spencer glanced down at the package in his hands. "Nora is integral to our takedown."

"How integral?"

"Can't do it without her."

He was silent for a moment. "A kid?" Peter nodded. "Okay… but on two conditions."

"Let's hear it," Peter sighed.

"First, I want an apology from Nora."

"I'm sure that can be arranged," he decided.

"Second, I want you to answer a question." Peter hadn't been expecting that. "I'll drop the charges no matter what you say, but I want an honest answer. Just one question."

"Okay," Peter agreed.

"Would you have asked me to drop the charges even if there hadn't been a case involved?"

Peter hesitated, meeting Spencer's eyes evenly. "Yeah," Peter admitted after a long moment. "I probably would have."

"Why?"

"I only agreed to answer one question," Peter reminded him, sounding remarkably like Nora.

Spencer chuckled. "Fair enough."

They made their way outside. The detectives were still lingering on the sidewalk. Upon spotting them, Nora scowled from the back of the detective's car. Peter met her eyes sternly while Spencer went to tell Detective Lewis that he had decided not to press charges.

Peter pulled open the door, bending over to meet her eyes. She was still pouting. "Spencer agreed not to press charges, but he wants an apology."

She stared at him dryly. "What, are we in kindergarten?"

He shrugged. "If you wanna be a child, then I'll tell Spencer never mind." He moved to close the door.

"Wait, wait," she protested. "Peter, stop. Fine. Okay, I'll apologize." Smirking to himself, he helped her out of the car and Spencer joined them. With a sigh, she put on an apologetic face and turned to Spencer. "I am really very sorry I took the package. It was an invasion of your privacy, and wrong of me to do. Thank you for agreeing to not press charges."

Spencer just snorted, not convinced. Detective Lewis freed her from the handcuffs and the two of them started inside. "Nora," Spencer called after them. "Did you mean even a single word of what you just said?"

She blinked innocently. "Sure, I meant plenty of then," she dismissed with a charming smile. "I'll let you figure out which ones." With a wink, she disappeared inside.

"Unbelievable," Spencer scoffed, but he turned away and Peter didn't have time to worry about it. He followed Nora in.

As they walked upstairs, she scowled at him. "What?" he protested.

"You let them arrest me."

"Oh, no," he snapped, "I'm not the bad guy here. You stole the package, and Spencer was well within his rights to press charges. You're lucky our case involves a kid. Otherwise, Spencer might not have been so willing to drop the charges." She just rolled her eyes like a sulking teenager. "Go get ready. We've only got a couple hours before the game starts."


	37. Shuffle Up and Deal

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Shuffle Up and Deal

Nora was still bitter about Peter letting the detective arrest her, but she tried her best to push it away. It was almost time for the game, and she needed to focus. After Peter made her swallow her pride and apologize to Spencer, she dressed quickly in a deep purple dress and light but elegant jewelry. She parted her hair to the side and pinned it over her right shoulder.

Back at the office, Peter filled a briefcase with the money they'd been granted by the bureau and gestured for her to give him her leg. She propped it up on the chair. He's barely said a word to her since the whole debacle with Spencer. "These guys can spot a cheat," he reminded her stiffly, pulling the anklet off. "No wires, no cellphone. No Mozzie. You're gonna have to do this the old fashioned way. You're gonna have to beat him honestly."

She rolled her eyes, smoothing out her dress and picking up the case. "Well, contrary to popular opinion, I can do honest."

"Can you beat him?"

"He's good," she allowed. "I'm better. Anything else?"

"Yeah. Good luck."

The New York Room was buzzing with excitement for the game. She paid the buy-in and made her way in to the table. Donovan was milling about, not really talking to anybody else, and she decided to introduce herself. "Luke Donovan," she greeted, shaking his hand. "Nat Halden."

"Miss Halden. Enjoy the play."

She smiled brightly. "You too." She took her seat at the table with the other players, and a crowd gathered around them. A few moments later, Abramov cut his way through the crowd.

"Good evening," he greeted, "welcome. The game is no limit Texas hold 'em. You will play until there is only one player left standing." Everyone nodded soberly. "Okay. Shuffle up and deal."

A woman took her spot at the dealer's seat and the game began. With cards in front of her, Nora slipped into a deep focus, all her previous annoyance forgotten. It had been so long since she got a chance to actually play high-stakes poker, practically a life-time ago it seemed.

Hand after hand passed, chips changing hands, some piles growing and some piles shrinking.

"Three thousand," Donovan bet, causing the next man to call.

Nora studied him quizzically. "You got the straight," she guessed.

"Do I?" He didn't blink. Nora tossed her cards back to the dealer; she wouldn't be able to beat a straight.

"Let's see them," the man who had called prompted, flipping over his own cards. As Nora had guessed, Donovan turned over a straight. The man tossed his cards down in frustration and stormed away from the table; he was the first loss of the night. The crowd clapped.

"Cards are war disguised as sport," Donovan mused, collecting the chips into his steadily growing pile.

"You're lucky, Donovan," she said, fidgeting idly with her own chips. Their piles were practically neck-and-neck.

"Luck?"

"That's four in a row," she noted.

"Ah, yes. Nothing happens by chance, there's no such thing as luck," he dismissed, organizing his chips. "There is meaning behind every little thing."

She chuckled, not agreeing with his sentiment. "I hope you're right. Come on, nobody likes to quit while they're behind."

"Oh, nobody likes to quit while they're ahead."

"Shuffle up and deal."

The game resumed, and it became quickly apparent that it was really a match between Donovan and Nora. One by one, the other players were forced out until only the two of them remained. The crowd watched anxiously.

"And then there were two," Donovan mused. They'd been playing for what felt like hours. Somewhere along the way, Donovan had forgone his jacket and tie, and sat slouched over the table. Nora, too, ended up letting her hair down and kicking her heels off under the table.

"Your math skills are impeccable," Nora said dryly. The hand was dealt – the six and two of spades and the eight of clubs – and Nora watched Donovan's face as he took a peek at his cards. He dropped a couple blue chips in front of him. "Fifty-thousand," he wagered.

Nora glanced at her own cards. King and ten of spades. One card away from a flush. "I call," she decided.

The dealer turned up the queen of hearts. After a moment's deliberation, Donovan slid a handful of chips forward. "Twenty grand." He looked pointedly at Nora. "You know, this might be the time you think about folding. Do you know how to do that?"

She raised an eyebrow. "You must really like your hand." He didn't blink. She considered it for a moment. "Call," she decided.

Nora watched with bated breath as the dealer turned up the last card: the nine of spades. She had her flush. Donovan sighed heavily. "All in."

Her placid smile fell as she turned to stare at him. Either he was truly confidant, or he was trying to psych her out. The crowd murmured with excitement.

"You have the inside flush?"

He looked away and gave his tell-tale two little blinks. "Do I?"

Nora licked her lips, holding back a smug smirk. "What can I say? Let's go to war." She shoved her chips forward, the crowd cheering as they cascaded down from their neat towers with that oh-so-sweet clinking of plastic.

Pleased with himself, he flipped over his cards, the jack and queen of spades. Nora stared at them for a long moment before flipping her own cards over. The crowd went wild. She had the high card. Donovan's face fell. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Abramov and Clark the Shark glare down at Donovan.

* * *

Back at the office the next morning, Nora was excitedly giving a crowd of agents the play-by-play of her victory. "He flips over the river and..." She held up her bank deposited slip for emphasis.

"Mm-hmm," Peter scoffed. "You cheated, right?"

She glared at him. "Peter, you insult me.

"There's no way you would've left it to chance."

"A true gambler never reveals her strategies."

Peter glanced at Jones, smirking. "Oh, reveals her strategies." Jones chuckled. "And what about the winnings?"

"Per your request, I deposited the $800,000 into the FBI bank account," she admitted, tucking her slip of paper into his jacket pocket.

He pulled it out and looked at it. "Eight hundred grand?" he repeated. "A hundred grand times ten players, minus the ten percent house cut, that's-"

"_Nine_ hundred thousand," Jones supplied.

They looked at her pointedly, and she scowled off to the side. "Hundred grand, bottom drawer, hollowed out weapons manual." Peter stared, exasperated. "Safekeeping," she dismissed, slouching back to lean on her desk.

Diana joined them, grinning. "Looks like Nora's poker smack-down paid off. Donovan's desperate."

"You talked to him?" she asked.

"No, but he just called the number of our Sudanese adoption contact. I re-routed it to the audio trace back room."

"Good," Peter said. "What'd he say?"

"Our linguist expert posing as the contact followed the script perfectly. Told him the holdup with Samira's adoption was nothing more than a paperwork mix-up."

Peter nodded, pleased. "Alright, now we see if he comes back to you and Jones with the same story or if he pulls some nonexistent birth mother out of thin air."

"What do we do until then?" Nora wondered.

"Until then, we wait." Peter leaned next to her on her desk, clearing his throat. "His tell," he guessed.

"Oh, yeah, his tell."

"We beat him together."

She scoffed. "Well, I beat him, but, you know…"

He stared at her. "Bottom drawer?"

"Yeah," she said, dejected.

* * *

Peter was alone for dinner once again, Elizabeth out of town for an event. On one hand, he was glad her business was thriving and she was so happy. On the other, he missed his wife. They chatted about her most recent event during their nightly phonecall. "How'd it go?" he asked.

"Well, let's see. The client's happy, so I'm happy, which makes you happy for me."

He chuckled, sitting down at the table with his takeout. "You're lucky I'm so supportive."

"Yes, the client's so excited that she wants to take me to dinner to celebrate."

"Well, nice one of us has something to celebrate about," he grumbled. "And, yes, it's about Nora. She is neck deep in a dangerous game of cat and mouse."

"Really? With who?"

"Spencer Ellis," he explained, "our insurance investigator. He's investigating her, and she's enjoying it."

Elizabeth chuckled. "All that pent up animosity and fighting, it leads to sparks."

"Well, we don't have pent up animosity," he reminded her. "We never fight."

"And that's a good thing," she assured him.

"What about the sparks?"

"Honey, we are so not lacking in the sparks department. When I get home, I'm gonna prove it to you."

"I'm gonna hold you to that," he promised with a smirk. His phone beeped, signaling an incoming call, and he sighed. "Oh, honey, I gotta take this. I'll call you later."

"Okay, bye."

He hung up and answered the incoming call. "Hey, Diana, what's up?"

"Donovan wants to talk. Jones and I are returning his call in twenty minutes."

It was what they'd been waiting for. "I'll be there," he decided.

Peter called Nora and they met Jones and Diana at the office just in time for them to make the call. They put it on speaker and got into character.

"I finally got in touch with your contact in Al-Fashir," Donovan explained. "There's no easy way to say this, but he informed me that Samira's birth mother has stepped forward."

They all shared a knowing look; they got him. "Oh, God," Diana muttered, voice sounding sufficiently scared and worried. "She wants Samira?"

"Mrs. Mayburn, it's only a scare tactic. What she really wants is money. I think I can convince her to back off."

"How?" Jones demanded. "How much does she want?"

"Two hundred thousand dollars, cash." Peter smirked. "I'll need you to bring it to my office at noon tomorrow. I'm sorry to sound so demanding, but I'm convinced this is a solution that will best serve all parties involved… Bye."


	38. Recording

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Recording

They got situated in the van, ready to take Donovan down. "So, what's the story with Donovan pushing up the payoff thirty minutes?" Jones wondered.

"He called me back late last night and changed the time," Diana explained. "He's either spooked or he's up to something."

"Or both," Peter added. They would just have to play it by ear.

Jones glanced up at Peter. "Are you sure you don't want me to go with her?"

"If he's spooked, he'll be more at ease with just one of you."

"It's time," Diana sighed, pushing on a pair of large-rimmed sunglasses. "Wish me luck."

"Good luck." She grabbed her purse and headed out, and Peter's phone started to ring. "Nora, what did you find out?"

"Diana's hunch was right," she admitted. "Donovan just booked the red-eye to Buenos Aires."

Peter's eyes narrowed. "He's not paying off Abramov. He's taking the money and running."

"Why push up the meeting?" she mused. "What does that get him?"

He considered it for a moment. "Abramov wants his cash," he noted. "He must know Donovan's getting it at noon."

"Donovan shows up early, collects his two hundred grand and splits the country," she realized.

"Exactly. Except we're gonna be there to crash his bon voyage." He hung up the phone and moved next to Jones to watch the security feed. Diana was heading confidently toward Donovan's office.

Two black cars squealed to a stop next to her. She kept walking, head bowed. "Boss, there's something going on."

Men stepped out of the cars. "It's Abramov's men," Jones noted. "Looks like we're not the only one crashing Donovan's bon voyage."

"He must know he's taking the money and running," Peter sighed.

Clark the Shark came up behind Diana. "Mrs. Mayburn," he called, freezing her in her tracks. She spun around slowly. "I work with Mr. Donovan. He's instructed me to accept the money on his behalf." Bernie Buryatskiy came to his side.

Jones moved to stand, ready to rush to Diana's aid, but Peter stopped him. Diana was more than capable of handling herself, after all. "No, we blow our cover, it's over." He lifted his walkie. "Diana, stall. Just play it out, see what happens. Everyone else, stay alert."

Diana only hesitated a second. "I'm only giving the money to Donovan," she said firmly. "If he's not here, we'll have to reschedule."

"I'm afraid that's not possible," Bernie told her. He moved to snatch the bag out of her hand. She pulled the gun out before he managed to wrest it from her grasp and she pointed it at his chest.

"FBI, move, move," one of the agents on the street shouted, and they swarmed toward Abramov's men.

"Hold your fire," Peter ordered into the walkie, "just hold your fire." He and Jones rushed out of the van, guns drawn, and ran toward Diana. "Weapons down, hold your fire."

Peter and Jones stopped next to Abamov's men and Diana, guns lowered to show they weren't planning on shooting. Bernie glared between the agents. "What is this, a setup?" he hissed.

"We're not here for you," Peter explained. "We just want Donovan. He's leaving this country a free man unless we figure this out." The men just stared at Peter. "I'm willing to cut you a deal." Slowly, he holstered his gun.

A man opened the door of one of the black cars and Abramov climbed out. He shrugged broadly at Peter. "What kind of deal did you have in mind?"

"FBI's got you on illegal gambling. We can shut you down and look the other way, or we can shut you down and arrest you. Decision's yours."

Abramov considered it for a moment. "I have lawyers," he dismissed.

"And I've got your guys attempting to steal money from a federal agent," Peter countered.

"We stole nothing. Donovan owes us that money."

Peter stared at him, brow drawn. "How'd you know she was coming with that money?"

"Donovan told us he's running some kind of adoption scam, this lady be bringing it. We don't wanna risk his screwing us, cut out middle man, get from her directly."

"Yeah, well it's the adoption scam that we want to shut down," Peter sighed.

Abramov glanced between Peter and his men, before moving to grab the bag from Bernie. "What do I care?"

"You care because he's using Chechen kids."

He froze, and Peter knew that had caught his attention.

* * *

"You ready?" Abramov's man asked. Nora nodded, and her grabbed her upper arm with one hand, winding the other through her hair, careful not to hurt her but to make it look like he was. Bernie grabbed her other wrist. Peter nodded once and the men led her around the corner.

Two men were guiding Donovan in from the other side of the room, Abramov lounging on a sofa in the middle. Donovan froze, scared eyes locking on her. "Nat Halden?"

The men let her go, and she rubbed the back of her head. "Something tells me we're not here for a poker game," she said weakly.

Abramov stood. "It seems that Miss Halden not who she says she is." He paced forward, leering down at her. "You scam my men out of a lot of money." She swallowed hard, and he rounded on Donovan. "And you. You owe me money and I expect payment in cash or blood. It's your choice."

Nora stared at Donovan, eyes wide with fear. "I know what this guy is capable of," she told him urgently. "If you got the money, I'd give it to him."

"I don't, but… Mr. Abramov, I'm sorry. I was expecting a cash payment when your men picked me up."

"No, no, no," Abramov scolded. "Is wrong answer." He checked his watch. "And I will give you one minute to think of right answer." He gestured his men away and they drug Nora back the way she'd come. Once out of sight, they let go of her and they rushed down the stairs.

It was time for the fun part. She let out a yelp of pain. "Wait, wait, wait," she plead, "please, stop. I don't have your money. I swear to you." She sobbed convincingly. "I swear to you I don't have your money. Wait, no!" One of the men clapped his hands together, the sound echoing loudly in the wide open space.

"Say something about your legs," Peter advised quietly. She rolled her eyes and ignored him. "Your legs."

One of the men mimed stomping on her shin. "Oh, God," she wailed. "I swear to you." Another man tossed a chair on the floor. "Not fire! Don't light the cigarette-" She let loose a bloodcurdling scream, her piece de resistance.

Abramov excused himself back upstairs while they wrapped up their little show. They strained to heard the voices that drifted down from the balcony. "You come up with way to get my money yet?" Abramov asked. Donovan just sputtered. "Gentlemen, give Mr. Donovan same treatment."

"No, wait, wait, wait. I can… I can… I can get you money. My job."

"Your job? You work for mint or something?"

"No, no, no. I'm an adoption lawyer with wealthy clients," he explained. "I can get money from them, and I'll cut you in."

"My sources tell me you're running some sort of scam," Abramov prompted.

Donovan hesitated. "I threaten them," he admitted. "I tell them they might lose their kids."

"How will I know the plan of yours will work?"

"Because I've done it eight, nine, ten times. It works, I promise."

Peter grinned. "Jones, Diana," he whispered into the walkie, "you got all that, right?"

"Oh, yeah," Diana assured him.

"Excellent. Everybody, move in."

Nora and Peter made their way upstairs. "FBI, let him go," Peter ordered, flashing his badge. They dropped Donovan's arms.

"Agent Burke," Donovan muttered, relief flooding over his face, "these men, they-" His words failed him as his eyes caught on Nora, looking remarkably unbeaten as she shrugged back into her blazer.

He glanced between Nora, Abramov, and Peter, confused. Peter smirked. "Told you I'd be in touch."

"This is a setup?" he asked, glancing at Nora who just shrugged. He rounded on Abramov. "And you were in on it?"

Abramov unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt, revealing the wire taped to his chest. "Yeah." He slowly stalked toward Donovan. "Agent Burke explained to me your little extortion scheme. What kind of sick animal messes with innocent Chechen kids?" He grabbed Donovan by the ear roughly, and the man flinched. "You should be ashamed of yourself."

Jones and Diana stepped into the room, smirking. "Mrs. Mayburn and I plan on playing that little confession for your clients," Jones told him, pulling his hands behind his back.

"I got a feeling a lot more extortion victims are gonna be coming forward," Diana mused. With that, they led him away. Agents and Abramov's men alike started clearing out while Nora and Peter lingered behind.

Nora glanced out over the balcony. "So, what happens to Abramov?" she wondered.

"Nothing," Peter sighed. "But he so much as gets a parking ticket, the Organized Crime Division gets a very thick file."

"Generous gesture," she joked.

They headed back to the office to wrap up the case. Needing a pick-me-up, Nora poured them each a cup of coffee. "You know what this place needs?" she mused. "Espresso machine."

"Well, that's a good idea," he scoffed. "Maybe we could dress up Jones as a pastry chef on Fridays."

She scowled at him. "I suggest refinement, you make jokes."

"No, I'm serious," he teased. "I think he'd look handsome with one of those floppy chef hats."

"It's called a toque," she sighed, adding sugar to her coffee.

"I know what it's called." His eyes caught on the glass doors. An agent was leading Catherine McMillan and Olly in. "And no espresso machine. Can't stand that steam sound."

They rounded the corner. "Hey, Catherine," Peter greeted. "How you doing? Heard the custody meeting went well."

"My attorney got me a deferred prosecution," she explained. "Strict probation with some community service."

"And you get to keep Olly," Nora noted.

Catherine beamed down at the boy, running a hand through his hair. "Yes, he's my son."

Peter chuckled and shook Olly's hand. "Glad to hear it."

"That's great," Nora mused, ruffling his hair.

"I just… I wanted to thank both of you for everything," Catherine continued. "We're gonna be okay."

"Take care," Peter told her.

Catherine took Olly's hand and they started back for the door. "Bye, guys," Nora called after them. As they walked, Olly turned around and waved over his shoulder to them, and Nora's heart melted as they waved back. "We did good."

"Yeah," Peter agreed. "As long as we keep trying to do that, we'll be okay."

They both took a sip of their coffee. Nora crinkled her nose, and out of the corner of her eye, noticed Peter do the same. "Wow, that is bad."

"It's awful."

She passed him her mug. "I'm gonna get an espresso," she said, heading for the elevator.

"Yeah, grab me one."

* * *

A knock on the door woke her the next morning. The night had been warm and sticky as summer continued drawing nearer, and she opted for a comfy cotton nightie rather than her normal shorts and baggy t-shirt for pajamas. Rolling out of bed with a wild tangle of hair, she stumbled for the door, expecting June, or perhaps Mozzie.

She hadn't been expecting Spencer. "Good morning," she greeted sleepily. Spencer looked her up and down, eyes a little wide, and she was suddenly aware of how short her gown was. Unfazed, she leaned against the door frame, arms crossed. "Here to arrest me again?"

His hazel eyes were soft. "Tell me about Kyle," he prompted, pushing past her.

"Come on in..." _What a way to start the morning_, she mused, pushing the door closed behind him.

Spencer glanced around the room, stopping by the table. He looped his thumbs in his pockets. "He was your boyfriend before you went to prison. What happened to him in that plane?"

She stared at him, jaw set in a hard line. "It's complicated," she huffed.

"Who killed him?"

"I don't know."

He was silent for a moment, staring at her. "Nora, I don't know what possessed you to drag me into this… but I'm in." With a sigh, he pulled the FAA package from inside his vest and offered it out to her.

Baffled, she took it. It was open. "You listened to it?" she guessed.

"Yeah. You need to hear it." An uncomfortable silence passed between them. "I… I should get going."

"Yeah..." He stared for a moment, looking like he wanted to say more, but instead he made haste toward the door.

"See you around, Nora."

"Bye, Spencer." He was gone, and she stared down at the package in her hand. She wasted no time calling Mozzie.

It was dark by the time he was able to meet her. She didn't want to listen to it without him, but the package sitting on the table taunted her all day. Mozzie came with a computer and they got it ready.

"Listen," Mozzie said as she fiddled with the settings on the computer, "helping those kids… Thanks."

"Any time, Moz."

He handed her the flash drive. "Ready?" With a shaking hand, she took it and plugged it into the USB drive.

An audio file opened, and they listened. She barely dared to breathe. There was the sound of a phone being dialed. "Hey, it's me," Kyle's voice said, and Nora's heart beat painfully in her chest. "Peter Burke is here."

"That's Kyle's voice," Mozzie noted.

There was a jumbled, distorted sound, and they couldn't make out what the person on the other end of the call was saying. "I don't know why Burke's here," Kyle continued. "Does this change the plan?"

There was a pop, and Nora jumped as the audio cut off. The explosion. Mozzie put a gentle hand on her shoulder as she slouched down, willing her mind not to slip back to that day.

She replayed the audio. "She called someone," Mozzie said softly.

"Yeah..."

"Hey, it's me," Kyle's voice repeated. "Peter Burke is-" Mozzie pressed the space bar, stopping it before it could play any further.

"We can enhance the sound," he offered. "Figure out who he dialed."

Nora nodded numbly. "I wanna know who's on the other end of that phone."


	39. A Crazy Morning

Chapter Thirty-Nine

A Crazy Morning

Peter dressed in a hurry, the phone pressed between his ear and his shoulder as he hastily tied his tie. "Did he say what it was about?" Peter wondered, making his way to the dining room.

"I only got vague details," Jones sighed.

"Who else is coming in?"

"Everyone."

"Everyone?" he huffed. It really must have been serious.

He sat down at the table, and Elizabeth bustled out of the kitchen, also on her phone. "Well it would be easier if it wasn't Saturday already," she told whoever she was talking to, sinking into the seat next to him. "But I can… I can add thirty people to the list."

Still half-listening to the scant details Jones was given, Peter gestured for Elizabeth to pass him the sugar. Barely paying attention, she handed him a cup of coffee. "No, sugar."

"Yes, dear," Jones joked.

"Not you, Jones," Peter snapped. Elizabeth shook her head, and Peter accepted his fate of sugar-free oatmeal with a sigh.

Jones, now amused, continued giving him the run-down. El also returned to her phone call. "Yeah," she mused, "what if we open up the patio?"

"Yeah," Peter muttered to Jones.

"Okay," Elizabeth agreed to her person.

Peter took a bite of his bland oatmeal, and decided he'd rather skip breakfast, pushing the bowl away in distaste. "Alright, got it. I'm on my way." He hung up.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," dismissed, "I'll be there at two."

"Thanks for breakfast, hon," Peter said, standing and grabbing his jacket. "I gotta go."

"Yeah, I gotta go, too. Alright… let's see." Peter paused. It was chaos, the two of them rushing around. She'd barely been home in months, and they'd hardly had a moment to themselves. "What else have I got to do? I've got to..." She practically ran into Peter, who stared down at her. "What?"

"This is crazy. Look at us. This is our weekend," he reminded her.

"Well, honey, the reception's this afternoon. I've got to order tomato basil crostini-"

"Yeah," he huffed, cutting her off, "and I gotta catch some bad guys, but we also need a little time for us."

Her face softened. "I know. I'm sorry. Ever since I got back from San Francisco, it's been nonstop." She smoothed down his tie idly.

"Well, you know what? It's gonna end tonight," he decided. "You and me, a bottle of wine, and a movie. No work. No discussion of work. No excuses. Just us."

She smiled dreamily. "Wow. Okay. Alright." She leaned in and kissed him lightly.

He smiled, wrapping her in a hug. "Just for that, I might make my patented pot roast."

"Ooh, I wonder what you'll make if I keep going." She kissed him again. "Bye."

"Bye." With a laugh, she headed for the door and he turned to watch her go. "Tonight," he reminded her. "Date night. Don't be late."

"I won't," she promised. With a smirk, Peter shrugged into his jacket and headed out after her, dialing Nora as he went.

They met a few blocks from the bureau, and she fell into step next to him, looking somewhat grumpy. "Any idea why we're being called in at eight AM on a Saturday?" she huffed.

"Crime doesn't take the weekend off." She scowled. "Did you have plans?"

"Yeah, I was hoping to go to the White Bored exhibit at the Powell," she admitted excitedly.

"White Board?"

"No, no," she corrected, "White _Bored_. Spelled B-O-R-E-D." He furrowed his brow, not getting it. "It's conceptual. The artist has taken a mundane office item and turned it into a canvas commentary on modern business."

She got excited over the strangest things, he decided. "Does he use paint?"

"Markers."

"I already have one in my office." She rolled her eyes. "Wait… and how did you know how I was spelling 'bored?'" he wondered, coming to a stop. "It's the same word."

"Your tone," she explained flatly, as if it should have been obvious. She would pick up on something like that. "Peter, you gotta see it. Come with me."

He narrowed his eyes. The Powell, she'd said… "The museum's outside your radius," he realized. Her face fell. "Can't. Date night with Elizabeth."

"Even better," she tried. "She'll love it."

"No," he huffed, "date night, which means no White Bored of any sort, and no Nora."

He turned and started walking again, and she sulked after him. "You could ask her," she insisted.

Peter sighed. She was never going to drop it. "I'll make you a deal," he decided. "You can see the exhibit."

"Really?" Her eyes glittered.

"If you can find an FBI agent willing to escort you."

She smirked, clearly thinking she'd come out on top in this deal. "Cake." She proceeded to bore Peter with every bit of trivia about the White Bored exhibit and the artist that she knew – which, knowing her, was just about everything there was to know about it sort of being the artist himself.

Finally, as they were riding the elevator up to the twenty-first floor, she changed the topic, instead grilling him about what date night entailed. The door slid open and they stepped out. "You making El pot roast?" she wondered. He raised an eyebrow, unsure how she'd managed to guess. "It's the only food I've ever heard you brag about."

A man stepped out of Hughes' office, and Peter stopped. "Bancroft's here..."

"Your boss' boss," she mused. She'd never personally met the man, but Peter had mentioned him a time or two before.

"This can't be good." Bancroft spotted Peter and stopped, giving him the double finger-point before continuing toward the conference room.

Nora leaned in, brow furrowed. "Do all the higher-ups do the double finger-point?"

"They teach it at Quantico," he joked. "Wait here."

* * *

Nora watched Peter head up the stairs, wondering who she could most easily get to take her to the Powell. She didn't have to wonder long, as Diana brushed past her. "Diana," she called, joining her at the agent's desk.

"Good morning, Nora," Diana greeted stiffly. "What do you want?"

Nora smiled brightly, not deterred. "It's the last weekend of the White Bored exhibit at the Powell," she explained.

"Outside your radius," Diana realized, smirking.

"I need an escort," she admitted. Diana rolled her eyes. "Just hear me out. Swan's work is gonna blow your mind. His pieces are a master study of corporate counterculture. And frankly, I think it would be irresponsible for you to ignore as an informed member of a white-collar division."

"I agree."

Nora beamed. _Cake_. "Excellent."

"That's why I went last week." Nora's smile fell. "You shouldn't have waited so long to ask."

She sighed, but it was fine. There were plenty other agents, she just needed to find the right angle for the right one. Her eyes caught on motion upstairs as two Marshals exited the conference room. "Why are the Marshals here?" she whispered.

Diana glanced over her shoulder as Peter stepped out of the room and double finger-pointed Nora. "I guess you're gonna find out."

Curious, Nora made her way up the stairs, wondering what the Marshals could have wanted from the FBI. It was the Marshals, she knew, who monitored her tracking anklet, but she wasn't vain enough to think all the commotion of the morning was about her; she hadn't done anything anyway. Any other business she'd had with the Marshals was long behind her… Stepping into the conference room, she put those thoughts out of her mind and joined Peter by the table.

"Nora, this is John Deckard from the Marshals Office," Peter introduced, gesturing to a man standing on the opposite side of the table.

Deckard didn't seem too thrilled to meet Nora. "Are you sure it's necessary to bring her in?" Deckard asked.

Peter turned to face her. "Nora, how long did you evade the US Marshals?" he asked dryly.

"Technically, they never found me," she amended, looking pointedly at Deckard for a moment. The man smiled tightly, unamused before she glanced back at Peter. "You did."

"As I heard it," Bancroft added, "you had the Marshals searching for you along the Mexican Riviera." Nora laughed, feigning modesty.

Peter rounded back on Deckard. "If anyone knows about evading arrest, it's Nora Caffrey," he assured the Marshal.

"I want this agent found," Bancroft insisted. "And I want the two of you to work it out." He pressed a file into Peter's hand.

"Yes, sir," Peter agreed, thumbing through the file as the agent retreated. "FBI Agent Jack Franklin is currently a fugitive."

Nora's brow furrowed. "An FBI agent's on the run?"

"He used to work here in the White Collar branch," he explained.

"Did you know him?"

"Not well. He transferred in from the Chicago office a couple years ago, then he got bumped down to Internal Bank Fraud."

"Isn't that the Siberia of assignments?" she joked.

"Maybe the bureau should have fired him instead," Deckard suggested. Nora glanced at the man. His posture was rigid, his jaw set in a hard line, and his eyes were stony. There was something about him that didn't sit right with Nora – beyond her general distrust all but a select few federal agents, that is.

"US Marshals caught him trying to access their witness database," Peter told her, pulling her from her thoughts.

"Oh." That was serious. People could get killed if that information got out.

Deckard and a Marshal who'd been standing quietly off to the side headed for the door. "Deckard," Peter called after him, "do you want to coordinate the search?"

Deckard stared at him for a second. "Justice Department insisted we loop you in. Well, you're looped in. Let me know what you find."

Peter huffed. "US Marshals," Nora mused once they were out of the room, "all smiles."

"Yeah." He peeked out over the stairs and gestured for Jones and Diana to join them. He turned back to Nora, very serious. "Franklin is one of us. I don't know what he's gotten into, but if anybody's gonna bring him in, it's gonna be the FBI." Nora nodded soberly, then couldn't help but chuckle a little. "What?"

"This is the first time I've been on this side of a manhunt."


	40. Test Drive

Chapter Forty

Test Drive

The team spread out across the conference room table and poured over maps and files while Peter filled them in on what he'd learned. "The Marshals went looking for Franklin at 6:30 this morning, and he's MIA." There was a fire in his tone that Nora rarely heard. "They've got a two hour head start. We _can not_ let them get to Franklin before we do. If they catch him fleeing, they will shoot him." Everyone nodded gravely. "Jones?"

"I'll check the airports, transits in and out of the city," he offered.

"Good. Diana?"

"I'll put photos in circulation cross-referenced with his FBI aliases."

Peter nodded. "Alright, I wanna canvass his friends and family, so let's move."

Nora and Peter lingered behind as the other agents poured out. She glanced over the file she'd been perusing, leaning on the edge of the table. Once the rest of the agents cleared out, she turned to Peter. "Franklin was a good agent," she noted.

"He was," he agreed stiffly. "Top in his class, twelve years of service."

"FBI medal of valor. That can't be easy to come by." He hummed, idly leafing through the papers in front of him. "What happened?"

He hesitated, not meeting her eyes. She got the impression he'd been expecting this question to pop up. "He had an inappropriate relationship with his CI."

She didn't know what she expected, but it hadn't been that. "Really?" she mused.

"Yes."

She raised an eyebrow. "How inappropriate?"

He glared at her. "Do you want me to draw you a diagram?"

"No." She returned her attention to the file, flipping to the page with the info on his CI.

"He fell in love with her," he sighed. "He got caught. They sent him down to Bank Fraud."

She met his eyes evenly. "Then she was his first stop."

"Well, maybe. She's his _former_ CI," he explained. "They broke it off when he got transferred."

She stared at him pointedly. "She has _three_ known aliases," she huffed. "She knows how to hide someone." He didn't say anything and she snapped the file closed, smirking. "Come on, Peter. If you were on the run-"

"I wouldn't go on the run."

She rolled her eyes. If Peter went on the run, she would be insulted if she wasn't his first call. She would, of course, help him at the drop of a hat, but there would be no end to the teasing and taunting about Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes running from the law. "Yeah, but if you did." He glared as she offered a light shrug.

"Yes, I'm sure it would be your fault," he joked. "Let's move." As they headed out, she found herself greatly amused thinking about what situations could possibly make Peter a fugitive.

They found themselves at her current place of work, a high-end car dealership. A pretty blonde at the reception desk smiled up at them as they walked in. "Rebecca Vidal, please," Peter asked.

"Sure, one moment," the woman said, picking up her phone, and Nora stepped further into the show floor.

"She works here in… sales." He noticed she'd wandered off and followed after her.

They milled between the cars, Nora studying them intently. While Nora didn't consider herself a car person, she knew her way around a luxury sports car. _And I really want to drive one…_ "Before she became a CI, what was she into?" she wondered, keeping her voice low.

"She was a car thief."

Nora smirked. "Do what you know."

Peter leaned in, voice low. "I'm a prospective customer. Rebecca and I are going on a test drive."

"Maybe I should take the test drive," she offered, face serious, "talk to her CI to CI, woman to woman."

Peter wasn't buying it. "You will do no such thing. You just wanna drive the car." She scowled at him. Ignoring her, he went to study a red Ferrari.

Nora glanced over her shoulder, and spotted the secretary pointing them out to another woman. While Nora recognized Rebecca's face from her file, her mugshot did her no justice – a sentiment Nora could relate to. "Now I understand the inappropriate relationship," she mused.

"There's a reason El was reluctant when I told her I was considering our deal," Peter muttered. She glanced over at him, eyebrow raised, but he offered no further comment.

Rebecca smiled warmly at them and headed their way. "If the car talk gets a little too detailed, I got you covered," she offered under her breath.

"Thanks," he scoffed.

"Hi, I'm Rebecca," the woman introduced herself, coming to a stop in front of them. "What can I do for you today?"

Peter hesitated just a second and Nora took the opportunity to swoop in. "Actually, my friend Peter has come into a modest windfall. I'm his consultant."

Rebecca turned to Peter. "Oh?"

"I have an '86 GTB and I'm looking to upgrade." Nora kept her face passive while idly wondering if Peter was secretly a car buff.

"Well, '86 is a classic," Rebecca mused, "but the Spider's got four-eighty-three horsepower versus two-seventy in yours. Double the torque, F-track stability… which you need at two-hundred miles per hour."

Peter nodded. "How are the adjustments to manettino controls?" That made Nora paused, blinking as she stared at him. _Secretly a car buff_, she decided.

"Well, I could tell you you'd love the steering wheel mount shifting," she offered, grinning mischievously, "but nothing speaks like a test drive." Her brown eyes sparkled.

Peter chuckled. "And it comes standard with GPS?" Nora added, not one to be left out.

"Yes," Rebecca laughed. "I'll go get the keys."

Once Rebecca was out of earshot, Nora glanced up at Peter. "'86 GTB, nice touch."

He nodded sadly. "You don't have to drive one to dream about them."

A moment later, Rebecca returned with the keys and pulled the car out through the garage door before trading spots with Peter. Peter glanced up at Nora, grinning broadly like a child who's dreams have just come true. "Behave while I'm gone," he teased before peeling out.

_Not likely_.

She meandered back inside. As she glanced around, her eyes caught on the name plate hanging on the empty manager's office. Eddy Von Mueuler. An idea clicked in her mind. Studying her surroundings, she spotted a man idling by a car who looked entirely out of place at a luxury car dealership.

Grinning, Nora made her way toward him. He glanced up nervously at her. "You've been here before," she guessed.

"Yeah," he laughed, "a few times."

"What's your name?"

"Dan."

"Anyone ever offer you a test drive?" she wondered, already knowing the answer.

He smiled sadly, staring down at the pretty yellow car. "No. Nobody ever said hello."

She nodded. "People judge," she sighed. "I wish it weren't so, but people judge. By your cotton-poly blend, pleated khaki slacks, by your cellphone holster." The man glanced down at his outfit, shifting uncomfortably. "But, Dan, you can wear whatever you want if you drive a Gallardo."

"Yeah?" he asked hopefully as she leaned on the car.

"But that's not why you drive one," she insisted. "You drive one because this car is a transcendent experience." The man stared down in wonder. "Hello, Dan. I'm Nat Halden." She shook his hand. "Ready for a test drive?"

Dan's mouth opened and closed a few times. "Yeah!"

She grinned. "I'll get the keys." She made her way over to the desks where the salespeople worked, acting like she belonged and thumbing through the different sets of keys. "I'm taking the Gallardo out," she told the two men who sat drinking coffee.

"He's a looker, not a buyer," one of the men scoffed. "When did you start?"

"This morning," she lied, snagging the Gallardo's keys. "Eddy didn't tell you? Nat Halden." She shook hand with both of them in turn.

"Welcome, Nat."

"Thanks." She stared at them seriously. "He may be a looker, but he's a live one."

"Good luck," the man called after her, chuckling under his breath.

"Thank you."

Pulling the car out, Nora grinned. _Killing two birds with one stone_.

* * *

Despite the circumstances that brought Peter to Rebecca, he couldn't help but relish in the test drive. Feeling the engine purr and the wind whip through his hair was exhilarating. Breaking several traffic laws, he zipped through the streets until they'd made it pretty far away from the dealership.

He pulled over on the side of the street and killed the engine. "Why are we stopping?" Rebecca protested.

"Peter Burke, FBI." He held up his badge and her face fell into a scowl that felt very familiar. "Based on that look, you know why I'm here."

"I knew it," she spat, throwing her head back against the seat. "I knew it."

"Listen to me. I worked with Agent Franklin in the White Collar Division. I wanna help him."

She glared at him, brown eyes cold. "The Marshals already came by. They searched my place this morning, then went through all my stuff at work." She crossed her arms and glared ahead. "I'm not doing this again. Take me back. Now."

He stared at her evenly, trying to figure out a way past her guard. She reminded him of Nora, with the same scowl and attitude and distrust of federal agents. _Maybe that's my in…_ He sighed. "My CI is more than just entree into the criminal world," he said softly. "She's the one I turn to when I need help. We don't have the relationship you and Jack had, but she's my friend."

Rebecca swallowed hard. "Are you finished?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Then turn the car around." With a sigh, Peter started the engine and headed back toward the dealership. There was a bitter taste in Peter's mouth, and driving the car had suddenly lost a lot of its fun.

* * *

Nora rushed the test drive a little, knowing it wouldn't take too much to convince Dan. She knew Peter would be a while, but it would be no good if he got back before she did. Dan was ecstatic as they returned inside. "What'd I say?" she cooed, leading him in. "What did I tell you?"

"I want it," he insisted. "That one."

"Okay, have a seat, I'll get the paperwork going." The men from earlier stared at her, baffled. "Can I get you some espresso?"

"That'd be great."

"Okay, sure." She turned to the men. "Listen, uh, this is my first sale and I promised to split it with Rebecca."

The man stared at her for a moment. "He's buying?" he wondered skeptically.

"I know. But she's out with another customer. Can you log me in on her computer?" She blinked at him with big, puppy-dog eyes.

"Sure," he agreed easily. She followed him to Rebecca's desk and he logged onto the desktop. "Congrats."

"Thanks." She took a seat in the chair. "Oh, um, could you get him an espresso?" With a dry look, the man nodded stiffly. "Thanks."

She got busy on the computer, knowing her time would be running out before too long.

* * *

Back at the dealership, Peter and Rebecca climbed out of the car in silence. She rounded to his side. "You better hope I find him before the Marshals," he warned before handing over the keys.

"Look," she huffed, "I haven't seen Agent Franklin in almost a year. He broke it off after they demoted him."

"He was a good agent."

She regarded him for a moment. "Whatever they're saying he did, there's no way."

"He needs to come in," he said firmly. "It's the only way we can clear him."

"I told you, I don't know where he is."

She turned to stalk away. "Alright, listen," he insisted, pausing her in her tracks. "Listen. _If_ you two do make contact, let him know that I'll make this promise. I'm willing to listen." He offered out a business card, and she took it reluctantly.

They headed inside, Rebecca reading over the card. Over her shoulder, he saw Nora. Rather than waiting like a good CI, she was behind Rebecca's desk, on her computer. _Damn it. Why can't she ever listen_?

Against his better judgment, he grabbed Rebecca's wrist, willing some excuse to cover for Nora to pop into his head. "Uh..."

"What?" Rebecca snapped, spinning around. Nora glanced up at the commotion, subtly holding up a hand to signal for him to stall.

"Ahem," he coughed, "I know that you think I only took the car out to talk."

She gave him a withering look. "Clearly you didn't take it out to drive it," she scoffed, turning away again. He pulled her back.

"No, but… I need an honest answer on one more thing." He saw Nora grab some papers off Rebecca's printer and leisurely glance over them. "I've been with the bureau for twelve years. I've got perfect credit. Can I get financed on one of these?"

She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "You'd have better luck seizing one from a drug dealer." Nora rose to her feet as Rebecca spun around. Peter was out of an excuse to stall. The woman froze. "Hey..."

"Hey, Rebecca," Nora greeted brightly, a man in a plaid shirt at her heels. "So glad you're back. This is Dan. He's buying the yellow Gallardo. Dan, Rebecca will take it from here. Congratulations, my friend." Nora shook his hand.

"Thanks." Without waiting for Rebecca to respond, Nora booked it out the door.

Peter raced after her. "What were you thinking?" he hissed.

With a wary glance over her shoulder, she pulled the paper she'd printed out from under her jacket and handed it over smuggly.

They paused as he read over it. "Her drive log from yesterday?" he realized. "So?"

"3:45 PM, she took a test drive with Claudia Weaver."

Peter's brow furrowed. "Claudia Weaver? That's one of Rebecca's aliases."

"So, she took herself for an hour-and-a-half spin in a Porsche."

While he was still frustrated with her means of getting the information, he couldn't argue with the results. "Any idea where she and her alias went?"

She grinned. "Luckily, the cars come equipped with a GPS tracking device."

He laughed. "Oh, just like you." Her face fell and he turned away.

"Just like me," she muttered darkly.


	41. Pot Roast

Chapter Forty-One

Pot Roast

Nora, Peter, and Jones gathered around the conference room table with a map of the city to go over what they'd learned from Rebecca. "Franklin shows up at her showroom," Peter recapped. "Rebecca tells everyone she's going for a test drive. And she parks the car here." He pointed to a spot on the map.

"Or Franklin phoned her and they met there," Nora offered.

Diana rushed in, file in hand. "Boss, look at this file." He took it and flipped it open to a newspaper clipping. 'Sullivan Anti-Trust Case Loses Star Witness.'

"The Sullivan Anti-Trust case," Peter mused.

"It's the case Franklin was working on before he got transferred from White Collar," Diana explained.

"Where'd you find it?" Nora wondered.

"In a locked file drawer in Franklin's office. I got in there before I let the Marshals search it."

Peter and Nora glanced up at here, impressed, before returning to the file in front of them. Under the newspaper clipping were a series of surveillance photos. "That's Deckard," Nora noted quietly. "Are these all US Marshals?"

Peter thumbed through the rest of the photos. "No, not all of them," he allowed. "Some are witnesses. This guy's a lawyer… So is this guy."

As they stood looking through the photos, a voice carried up from the bullpen. "Have you found anything?" Deckard asked. "Where's Agent Burke?"

"Peter," Nora muttered.

"He's upstairs in the conference room," another agent told Deckard, who glanced up at them. Subtly, they started shuffling around the evidence they'd found.

"Come on," he said softly to Nora, and she followed him from the room. "Wait a minute, if it's a _canvas_ commentary, why would he use white-"

"Burke," Deckard greeted, coming to a stop at the top of the stairs. Peter wheeled around as if he hadn't known Deckard was looking for him. "Any leads?"

"Deckard," Peter sighed, "little heads-up when you're on your way over here."

"Hey, what did Franklin's CI say to you?" he wondered. "Did she give you a location?"

"Well, we don't have anything yet," Peter lied. "But how did you know that we met with Rebecca Vidal?"

Nora sighed, crossing her arms. "The Marshals can track my anklet," she reminded Peter.

Deckard smirked at her. "I heard you were quick." He rounded back on Peter, motioning toward the folder tucked under Peter's arm. "Are those Franklin's files?"

"Just the files you gave us this morning."

"You know, just because Franklin's one of you doesn't make him any less guilty," Deckard said coldly.

"We're on the same team," Peter dismissed. He turned back toward the conference room. "Jones, show him what we have." With that, Peter pushed past him and headed down the stairs, Nora trailing after.

"You're not sharing the files from Franklin's office," Nora whispered once they reached the bottom.

"Think I'll take it home with me."

She smirked. "Working from home," she mused. "That's one way to avoid them looking over your shoulder."

"Here's the other way. You stay here and let them look over your shoulder."

"With pleasure," she agreed, eyes taking a mischievous glint. He started for the door. "Oh, Peter. Have fun cooking your pot roast." He planned to.

Back home, Peter got the pot roast in the oven and spread out on the kitchen table with his files and his laptop to reexamine the case without the Marshals looking over his shoulder. Several hours passed before he knew it, the bright _bring _of the kitchen timer pulling him from his work.

He stood and headed toward the kitchen. His oven mitts were on the stand just outside the door where he'd left them and he paused to pull them on. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a slight movement outside the back door and froze. Slowly, casually, he moved back to the table and stooped to pull his gun from its holster, slung over the back of his chair.

Moving quickly, he pressed his back against the wall between the door and the window, gun at the ready before he hazarded a peak out. Jack Franklin stood on the other side, in a position very similar to Peter's against the back porch's trellis, gun drawn and ready for the worst. He glanced over and spotted Peter.

"Jack Franklin?" Peter called.

"Agent Burke?" Franklin returned. "You said you'd listen. So here I am." Peter sighed. It wasn't _quite_ what he'd had in mind. Slowly, Peter pulled the door open. Jack jumped, eyes snapping toward him and hand tightening on his gun.

"I need you to lower your weapon," Peter told him, not moving from his position around the corner.

"I can't do that."

"Put your gun down, Jack," Peter said evenly. "House rules."

Jack wasn't so easily persuaded. "I know your rep, Peter. And I'm here because you play straight. You said you'd listen." He met Peter's eyes, firm. "But I'm not surrendering my weapon to you or anyone else. Not until I can get the truth out."

Peter took a steadying breath. "Holster your weapon and we'll talk," he decided. Reluctantly, Jack agreed.

* * *

"Hey, Moz," Nora greeted as she stepped into her apartment. She was really only stopping in for a moment; she had to get back to the office, lest the Marshals seek another shoulder to peek over. He was hunched over the laptop, a pair of Russian surplus headphones over his ears, taking notes on a small notepad. He didn't acknowledge her. "Sorry I'm late."

"So, they conscripted your Saturdays," he muttered, not looking up from the screen. "Go, FBI."

She sat next to him at the table. "Found anything?" she wondered.

"I deciphered the phone number that Kyle dialed from the plane," he admitted, finally glancing up to her as he pulled the headphones down to rest around his neck. She swallowed hard. "I traced it to a store-bought burner phone."

Her heart sank. "So, no names associated with it?"

"Not yet. But, 'the reason for time is so that everything doesn't happen at once.'"

She smirked despite herself. "It's been a while since you've quoted Einstein," she mused, much to his amusement. "It means you're in a groove."

Giddy, he pulled the headphones back on. She stood, clapping him on the back before heading back out. "Well, 'great spirits have often encountered violent opposition from weaker minds-" She closed the door behind her.

* * *

Peter and Franklin stared at each other in silence for a moment, and Peter couldn't help but reflect on the fact that this wasn't the first time he'd found himself face to face with a fugitive in his dining room. It had been almost a year since Fowler had framed Nora for the diamond heist, prompting her second escape from custody and subsequent stint on the run.

"The pot roast smells good," Jack muttered idly.

Peter scoffed. "You're kinda screwing up my date night with my wife," he admitted. Peter slowly took a seat, sitting his gun on the table where Jack could see it. "You wanna talk to me about those accusations?"

Jack didn't sit, pacing anxiously as he launched into his explanation. "I was working the Sullivan anti-trust case. After two years, looked like I finally had a witness who was willing to come forward. One week before his testimony, he was killed in a hit-and-run."

Peter nodded slowly. "That's when you started poking around the Marshals' office."

"Well, they were the only ones aside from me who knew where the witness was," he huffed. "A few days after I start asking questions, OPR gets wind of me and Rebecca. Next thing I know, I'm transferred into Bank Fraud."

"Why didn't you tell anybody?"

"Well, I tried," he admitted, finally taking a seat. "But I didn't have any proof."

Peter met his eyes evenly. "Why now? Why did Deckard start going after you today?"

"I made a breakthrough," he said simply. "And Deckard knows I'm onto him." He started leafing through the papers laid out on the table, plucking one out of the pile and handing it over. "Yesterday, I hacked into one of the defense attorney's systems."

It was one of the photos they'd looked at earlier. "That's Volker in the Sullivan case," Peter realized.

"I found a reference in an email chain to a hard-copy ledger," he explained.

"What's on it?"

Franklin shrugged. "As far as I can tell, it's got every transaction Volker did with Deckard." Peter's eyes went wide. "The witness names, how much he paid Deckard, the names on the accounts. Volker keeps it in his office in case Deckard tries to turn on him."

Peter pulled some of his papers toward him, flipping through the pages quickly, Jack's comment sparking something in his mind. "Hang on…" He found the page he'd been looking for. "You and Rebecca went to Volker's office yesterday to look for it."

He nodded. "We were casing it out. How did you know?"

"We followed the GPS data on her test drive," he muttered.

"Does Deckard know this?"

"It's his case," Peter reminded him.

"But if Deckard knows I went to Volker's office, he's gonna head there," Jack huffed. "And if he gets that hard copy-" Scowling, Jack stood.

Peter snatched up his gun and climbed to his feet. "Jack," he said evenly. "We do this together or not at all."

"Okay."

"You're a fugitive. There's a warrant for your arrest. I need you to surrender your weapon." Jack swallowed hard, staring at Peter for a long moment. Finally, he pulled it from his waste band and laid it on the table. "Good. Let's go."


	42. Car Theft for Dummies

Chapter Forty-Two

Car Theft for Dummies

"I'm telling you, Jones," Nora insisted, trailing after the agent as he sped toward the stairs, "you cannot miss this. It's mostly office motifs, right? Imagine Shepard Fairely meets Dilbert."

Jones stared at her. "That means nothing to me," he said flatly, pressing a file into her hands. Defeated, she let it drop as they stepped into the conference room.

Nora's brow furrowed as she took in the scene before her. Some random Marshal was talking with an agent, going over the plethora a papers in front of them. Suddenly, she regretted stepping out to talk to Mozzie as she noted a very concerning absence. "Where's Deckard?" she asked.

"He went to chase down a lead," the agent told her, looking up from her files. Nora's heart sank. It was her job to give Deckard something to snoop on, and she'd been very careful that nothing she was doing could have given him any sort of meaningful lead.

"Where?" Jones wondered.

"He didn't say."

Nora caught Jones' eye and subtly motioned for him to follow her out. They stepped into Peter's office, a bad feeling brewing in her stomach. "You don't think he got the lead from us, do you?"

"I don't see how he could have," Jones admitted. "Peter took all the stuff we got from Franklin's office home with him, and we didn't have any other useful evidence."

"Call Peter," she advised, "give him a heads up." He raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothing," he laughed, "I just didn't realize I take orders from you now."

She rolled her eyes. "Call it a friendly suggestion, if it makes you feel better." Rolling his eyes, he started to dial Peter's cell from the office phone while she made sure the door was locked.

Peter answered on the first ring. "Yeah?" he greeted.

"Peter. Nora and I are on speaker in your office."

"What's going on?" he asked.

Nora fiddled with the end of a curl. "Deckard left the FBI," she admitted.

"Who are you on the phone with?" she faintly heard another man's voice ask.

"Jack, don't break in," Peter hissed.

Nora and Jones exchanged a confused look. "Are you with Jack Franklin?" she asked.

"Yeah, at Volker's office." She couldn't help but be impressed. He certainly worked fast, already getting to Jack _and_ sneaking in somewhere he wasn't supposed to be, without a warrant and without her bad influence. "Franklin says Deckard is the one who's selling witness information. And there's evidence in Volker's office to prove it."

Unease bubbled in her stomach. "That may be where Deckard went," she warned.

"Wait, wait," Jones interrupted. "Peter, you're _with_ Franklin?"

"Yeah."

Jones didn't miss a beat. "Do you need backup?"

"No," he dismissed, "we're in Glen Cove. It would take a half-hour to get here."

"I'm not waiting for backup," they heard Jack insist faintly.

"Jack," Peter hissed.

"That evidence is my only hope. You can wait here or follow a fleeing suspect."

Jones sighed, clearly not liking the situation. "Peter, I'm gonna call local PD."

"No, I'll manage," he assured them. "I'll let you know if things change." With that, he hung up.

* * *

Things changed almost the second Peter hung up the phone, the sound of gun fire filling the air. "What now?" Peter hissed, stowing his phone away and drawing his gun. He headed carefully down the way Jack had gone. "Franklin? Deckard? It's Burke." He peered around the corner for a moment, not seeing any movement, before diving for cover behind a counter.

"Peter," Jack huffed, "he's destroying evidence." Jack was crouched down a few feet away, but didn't seem to have been shot.

"Franklin, it's over," Deckard called. "You're coming in."

"Deckard," Peter called.

"Yeah?" He could hear the whir of shredder, chewing up incriminating evidence.

"Where's your backup?"

"They're on their way." Jack made a move, standing and covering his head before running to take cover beside Peter. Deckard took a shot, and a vase on top of the counter shattered into ceramic blue shards.

"Deckard, hold your fire," Peter ordered.

Jack slid to a stop next to him, panting. "He got to the files."

Peter huffed in frustration. This was not how date night was supposed to go. "Deckard, I'm gonna stand up. Both of us are gonna lower our weapons." Slowly, he stood.

Neither of them lowered their guns, but thankfully, Deckard didn't shoot. "Burke, Jack Franklin's a fugitive," Deckard reminded him. "Why haven't you cuffed him yet?"

"He's unarmed. We're gonna wait for backup."

"Well, I don't know what you have planned," Deckard said slowly, "but he's coming with me."

"Deckard, listen."

He didn't seem to have any intention of listening. "The FBI," he spat, grip tightening on his gun, "always covering for each other."

Jack bolted, and Deckard prepared to take a shot. "Don't think about it!"

"You have no idea what you're getting yourself into."

Peter backed away slowly. "I think I do." He turned tail and followed Jack out through a door marked 'exit,' his words from earlier ringing in his ears. _I wouldn't go on the run_. Yet, there he was, going on the run. And it didn't even involve Nora.

They followed the hallway beyond to a parking garage. "Jam the door," Peter ordered as Jack slammed it behind them. They wedged a trashcan under the handle. "This won't hold long." Quickly, they took stock of what was around them. The garage was empty, save for two cars under gray tarps. Exchanging a glance, they both rushed forward to pull the tarps off, revealing two sparkling Lamborghini underneath. _Going on the run, grand theft auto... this day just keeps getting better and better._

* * *

It had barely been ten minutes before her phone rang. Seeing Peter's name, she tapped Jones and answered on the first ring. "Peter."

"I need to hotwire a Lamborghini."

Brow furrowing, she stepped off to the side, dropping her voice so she wouldn't be overheard. "Theoretically? Because-"

"No," he huffed urgently, "right now. I need to actually hotwire a Lamborghini Murcielago Roadster."

"Ooh, yeah," she muttered, "that's a tough one."

"Can you do this?" he spat.

"No," she admitted.

"What do you mean no?"

She rolled her eyes. "I mean it's a half-million-dollar Lamborghini," she whispered, wondering what Jones was thinking as he listened to just her half of the conversation. "You can't just tap two wires together and fire up the engine. You need the key."

Faintly, she could hear Jack describing the car, and she couldn't help but grin. "Is Franklin talking to Rebecca?" A bubble of excitement welled up in her chest. "Is this a CI-off?"

"Hard to say," Peter snapped, "he's reading her the VIN number."

She licked her lips, thinking. "Wait, you said Volker kept evidence against Deckard?"

"Yes, in his office."

"So, he's the kind of guy who likes to have a backup plan."

"No, I already checked," he hissed. "No key in the obvious places."

Of course it wouldn't be in the obvious places; that would be too _obvious._ She racked her brain for anything she knew about the Roadsters. It wasn't a lot, but it was a non-zero amount. Boosting cars was never really her thing, but there was no such thing as useless knowledge.

"Wait," she muttered. "Wait a second… There's a small recess inside the rear bumper molding. It's where I'd put a backup."

There was some scuffling sounds as Peter checked, then the sound of an expensive car roaring to life. "My CI beat your CI," she heard Peter boast. It was a few minutes before Peter spoke again. "Nora, you still there?"

"Yeah. What happened?"

"We made it out," he admitted. His voice was muffled by the sound of the engine and the rush of wind. "Good work. Is Jones there?"

"Yeah."

"Put him on." With a swell of pride, she handed the phone over.

Jones talked to Peter in hushed tones for a moment before hanging up and handing the phone back. He gestured of him to follow her, and causally, he loudly informed Diana that the two of them were heading out for lunch. It wasn't the greatest cover story she'd ever heard, but it would suffice in a pinch.

She didn't dare speak until they were in Jones' car and pulling out into traffic. "Are we meeting Peter and Jack?" she wondered.

"Yeah, that's the plan." She smirked. While it wasn't how she imagined her first manhunt on the side of the FBI would have gone, it was certainly shaping up to be very interesting. Peter must have truly believed in Jack's innocence if he was willing to risk so much, stealing a car and running from Deckard.

It was quite the drive, practically out in the middle of nowhere. Jones was driving like Peter, with an almost reckless abandon, but given the situation she could excuse it. She could see Peter and Franklin standing by a sleek black Lamborghini as they got close. Jones squealed to a stop next to them.

She stepped out of the car, leaning on the door as Peter rounded the Lamborghini to meet them. "Car's got a tracking device as good as my anklet," she warned him.

"Can you disable it?" Peter asked simply.

"Why?" Jones wondered, stepping out of the car. "You're not coming in?"

Peter hesitated. "It's complicated," he decided. "We gotta lose the Marshals."

"They're not gonna be far behind us," she mused.

"Then you better get started." With a smirk, she shrugged out of her blazer and pressed it into his hands. "Of course," he scoffed.

She slid into the passenger's seat, unrolling the small tool kit Jack had found in the glove box. "Do I understand correctly that Peter Burke is on the run?" she teased, studying the tools. Peter rolled his eyes. "The same Peter Burke who would _never_ run?"

"No talking," he snapped. She bent down, craning her neck to see under the dash. The tracking device was child's play to spot, and it only took using a screw driver as leverage to pop it out before pulling the wires.

"Tracking disabled," she reported smuggly, trading the device for her jacket. Despite her teasing, she realized that Peter clearly struggling with the situation. "You okay?"

"Getting there," he sighed. "We're gonna need a place to hide out until we figure out our next steps."

She met his eyes evenly. As fun as it was to see him eat his words, the moment for joking had passed. He needed help, and she _had_ been his first call. "I think I can manage that," she assured him.

"Good."

She pulled her blazer back on, and her eyes turned to Jack. "You must be Agent Franklin." He didn't even acknowledge that she'd said anything.

"Alright," Peter said, "you two head back to the FBI. Any further contact will be through Diana."

Nora nodded. "Be careful, Mario." With that, all four of them got back into their respective cars and sped away.


	43. Tuesday

Chapter Forty-Three

Tuesday

Bancroft was waiting for them when they stepped off of the elevator, glaring down from upstairs. She froze under his intense gaze until he gave her the dreaded double finger-point. Jones shot her a pitying look as she slunk up the stairs. He'd retreated into the office by the time she reached the top of the stairs, and she plastered on a carefree, placid expression. "Hello, sir," she greeted brightly.

"Where's Peter," he demanded, wasting no time cutting to the chase.

Her face fell, turning serious. "I see you've spoken with Deckard."

He nodded gravely. "He said that Franklin was destroying evidence that Peter helped him flee."

With a glance over her shoulder, she shut the door. Dozens of possible, plausible lies swam to mind, but she dismissed them. Sometimes, the truth was the best play. She drew in a breath, collecting her thoughts before speaking. "I believe Peter is still with Franklin," she admitted.

"Why?"

"He thinks Deckard is selling the witness information, not Franklin."

He blinked. "Really?"

"Yeah. There was proof in Volker's office, but Deckard got there first and destroyed it."

He looked at her skeptically. "You were there?"

"No."

"So you don't know that."

She sighed. _Why is the truth a harder sell than a lie_? She decided to try a different angle. "Peter wouldn't have fled unless he thought Franklin was in real danger."

"So why didn't he come in?" Bancroft huffed.

She honestly didn't know that, but such a small detail had never stopped her before. It just meant that it was time to get creative with the truth. "Because he wanted your permission to stay out there with Franklin while they work out a way to prove that Deckard is behind this."

Fuming, Bancroft grabbed the phone off the receiver and offered it out to her. "Get Peter on the phone," he demanded.

"He tossed it."

"So, then he isn't really asking for permission."

She shrugged. "I guess it was more of an FYI." He glared at her, as if it was all her fault. "Look," she sighed, "this can work in our favor. Deckard doesn't know we suspect him. And he'll probably try to keep Jones and I close in case Peter contacts us."

"You want me to authorize you to mislead the US Marshals to buy Peter time," he summarized, exasperated.

She smiled. "Yeah."

He was silent for a moment. "I will let you know," he decided. It wasn't a no, so she would take that and run.

"Thank you." She headed for the door, hesitating with her hand on the knob. "Oh, by the way, just in case Deckard brings it up..." She faked a light-hearted laugh. He stared with icy eyes. "Peter had to steal a Lamborghini when they fle-" The look on his face cut her off abruptly, and he pointed at the door. She didn't need to be told twice.

* * *

Peter got word from Diana that Nora had come through with a place for them to lay low, and they made their way to the address she'd given him. They walked down a shabby, cluttered alley.

"I knew this day would come," the little guy's annoyingly familiar voice called after them as he stepped out from where he'd been hiding when they passed. The agents both jumped, Peter's hand instinctively reaching for his gun before his mind caught up to the situation. "The hunter has become the hunted." Jack shot Peter a skeptical look, and Peter waved him away. "This way, gentlemen."

They followed him inside an old industrial building, a large door sliding shut behind them. An elevator that looked like it had seen better years carried them slowly up several floors, rattling and rumbling the whole way. "Where are we going?" Peter wondered.

"Somewhere no suit has ever gone," Mozzie explained cryptically, "nor shall ever go again." Peter just stared at him dryly, not even sure how to respond to that. The elevator shuddered to a stop, and the door slid open. Mozzie led them through a dimly lit hallway until they came out to a loft. Its décor was very zen, with well-tended bamboo and trickling fountains, and even a Chinese style arch poised over a sand garden.

Peter stared around with wide eyes. It certainly wasn't what he expected a criminal's safe house to look like, but given what he knew about Mozzie, he supposed he shouldn't have been too surprised. "You're a Buddhist," he noted.

"I don't subscribe to labels," Mozzie dismissed, pulling a gray robe over his shirt and tying it. He kicked off his shoes before heading toward the sand garden. "Don't think this is my only safe house. One of many." He slipped into a pair of sandals. "I call it Tuesday."

Peter bit. "Why?"

"Because I'm usually here on Wednesdays."

Jack stared on like he was watching a car wreck in slow motion. "How well do you know this guy?" he muttered.

"Well enough," Peter sighed. A fountain filled a bamboo shoot, causing it to tip over and ring a gong. The sound struck something in Peter's mind and he groaned. "I left the pot roast in the oven. Date night. I didn't call Elizabeth."

"Ah, Mrs. Suit will not be pleased with you," Mozzie chided, raking meticulous lines into the sand.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "He knows your wife?"

Peter gave him a withering look. "I'm sure Rebecca has some friends you'd like to forget."

"Excuse me," Mozzie huffed, indignant, stalking toward them. "You can show a little respect for the man who's harboring two fugitives. You have no idea what bringing you here is doing to my chi."

"I'm sorry, Mozzie," Peter said evenly. "Thank you for your hospitality."

He nodded, satisfied. "Well, in that case, mi casa es _suit_ casa." He turned away, chuckling at his own corny joke, and returned to his work.

Peter turned to Jack. "We won't be here long," he assured him. They settled in for the long-haul, watching Mozzie as painstakingly trimmed a bonzai tree that stood taller than himself. Peter tried not to let the rhythmic ring of the gongs grate on his nerves, and decided their time would be best spent trying to crack the case. "There's gotta be a way to prove that Deckard is working with Volker."

"Stan Volker?" Mozzie injected, look up from his tree, "the defense lawyer?"

"How do you know him?" Peter wondered.

"He sold out a friend of mine who was arrested with one of his clients," Mozzie admitted darkly. "I knew he was trouble. You can never trust anyone who spells his name with dollar signs on his license plates."

Peter stared incredulously. "You know about his cars?"

"Are you kidding?" Mozzie scoffed. "His Lambis are all the guy ever talks about."

Jack and Peter shared a look. "We need to move that car," Jack muttered. "Even with the tracking device disabled, the thing's gonna attract attention outside." He jumped to his feet and started pulling on his shoes.

Mozzie looked at them like they were insane. "You _stole _one of Stan's Murcielagos?"

"We commandeered it," Peter dismissed.

"You G-men and your manifest destiny," he sighed, returning to his tree.

An idea struck Peter. "Mozzie, how would you like to participate in a government-sanctioned con?"

A smile split the little guy's face, intrigued at the thought. "Involving a dirty Marshal, Stan, and one of his prized Lamborghinis? How about yes?"

"Excellent." Peter stepped up to the sand garden's platform, excited to share his idea. "Alright, listen. I need to get a hold of Diana. Where's the phone?"

"There are no _phones_ here," Mozzie chided, as if the word 'phone' were a dirty one. "Tuesday has no phones."

Peter hissed in frustration. "Give me a phone, Mozzie.

The little man considered it for a moment. "Okay, there's an emergency burner phone in the dojo."

"Which way?"

"There's only one dojo in the loft," Mozzie said dryly, like it was obvious. Over the whole conversion, Peter turned. He'd find it himself.

_Crack_. Peter nearly tripped over Mozzie's stupid wooden rake, and it split under his weight. Mozzie gasped, and Peter spun around. "I can fix it," he assured the man quickly.

* * *

Diana was alone in the conference room when they returned. "Hey," Nora said softly after a hasty glance over her shoulder, drawing her attention. "What did you find on Volker?"

"He has one of the highest acquittal rates in the city," she offered. "Moreover, he won his last three cases when a key witness disappeared or died. So, what's the plan?"

Nora drew in a breath. The thought of an attorney having damning witnesses killed was enough to set her blood boiling – and the fact that a Marshal, someone whose job was to protect threatened witnesses was selling them out for a profit… It was way beyond wrong. "If Bancroft buys off, Jones and I will keep Deckard occupied. That will free you up for Peter to contact." Diana nodded soberly.

"Nora," Jones hissed.

She spun around to see Deckard and Bancroft push past Jones and stop in front of her. Deckard gave her a hard look, and she met his eyes evenly, forcing herself to keep calm. "You and Jones," he huffed. "We're gonna stake out Burke's home." Nora nodded. It would be easier to keep him occupied than she'd imagined.

Deckard glanced at Diana. "Who are you?" he demanded.

"She's a transfer from DC," Bancroft supplied. "I want her running point with your people here." Relief flooded through Nora. Maybe he'd been more open to her idea than she'd feared.

Deckard didn't seem to have a problem with that. "Let's go," he ordered. With a knowing look at Bancroft, Nora trailed after him, Jones on her heels.

In the van, they watched in silence, Nora pacing the cramped space. Eventually, Elizabeth made her way home, and Nora knew she was in for a nasty surprised when she realized date night had been abandoned. "This feels really wrong," she mused, more for Deckard's sake than out of any moral qualms. Peter would have expected nothing less than for his house to be staked out, but they couldn't have Deckard thinking they she was going along too easily with hunting Peter down.

"Well, you can always tell us where he is," Deckard huffed.

"I wish I knew," she said honestly. She'd put Mozzie in contact with Diana; she knew he was harboring Peter at one of his many safe houses, but had no idea which one. "Frankly, I'm a little offended he hasn't contacted me." She flopped down into a chair.

"I'm not. I want nothing to do with this," Jones lied, not taking his eyes off the screen. "It's all on Peter." The man was actually a great liar.

"He's your boss," Deckard mused. "I'm surprised your not more loyal." Jones shrugged; they both realized Deckard was just poking and prodding, hoping one of them would slip up and reveal something he could use. Deckard glanced back at Nora, cold and distrusting. "You know, since Peter's the real reason you're not behind bars I assume you're protecting him. So, let's all be very honest about why we're here. Sooner or later, he's gonna contact her or one of you guys."

Nora stared at him coldly, but said nothing. He shifted in his seat, fidgeting with his belt. Reflective bits of metal twinkled in the dim light, clinking softly together. She squinted, recognizing them as the keys to tracking anklets. Her interest didn't go unnoticed, and Deckard tugged on their retractable cord, giving her a better look. "Yes, one of these keys goes to your anklet," he assured her with a smug smirk.

Her fingers itched with the urge to lift them. She'd resisted that urge when it came to Peter – namely because he would have known it was Nora who'd stolen it – but Deckard was dirty. Who would notice if one of the keys came up missing? Who would believe him if he said she stole one? It would be stupid and risky…

_I need to get that key_.

_I need to be patient_.

"How do you like the new model, by the way?" he mused, taunting her.

She played along, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing her riled up over his childish teasing. "You know, it's lighter than the last one." She crossed her legs, lightly tugging up the hem of her pantleg to show it off shamelessly. "And sleek. I get a lot of complements."

"And the GPS is more accurate, too," he informed her. "Down to the yard."

"Yeah," she said dryly, "I noticed. For example, tonight I wanted to go to a museum exhibit a mere two miles outside my radius-"

"Nora," Jones huffed, cutting her off. She glanced at the monitor, spotting movement approaching the house. "We got company."

She stood and joined them, leaning lightly on Jones' shoulder; he rolled his eyes, but didn't brush her away. They were silent for a moment, studying the screen. "Who is that?" Deckard huffed.

"No idea," Nora lied, fighting back a smirk as Mozzie climbed the steps to the Burkes' front door. Elizabeth opened the door and he disappeared inside.


	44. The Prisoner's Dilemma

Chapter Forty-Four

The Prisoner's Dilemma

Mozzie stayed, and presumably chatted with Elizabeth for nearly half an hour. She knew Peter had something in play, but was still trying to figure out what. Of course, it wouldn't have been the first time she and Mozzie have had to cooperate on a plan without being able to cue the other in on what the plan even was.

"What do you know about this guy?" Deckard asked, breaking the silence that had once again filled the van.

Nora was spared having to lie by Jones. "He's another CI," the agent offered. "Peter leans on him when Nora is not around."

"Really?" she mused. "We should talk to him."

Deckard considerd this. "No," he decided, "let's see it play out. Let's see where he leads us." She sighed silently, her hopes of getting some sort of coded message from Mozzie dashed, and shared a look with Jones.

An uneventful second half hour or so passed. Jones still stared at the screen, but Nora and Deckard opted to idle through a copy of the day's newspaper. "Looks like our CI has left the building," Jones joked as taxi pulled up in front of the house and Mozzie stepped out the front door.

Nora watched, curious, as Mozzie paused to clean off his glasses before getting into the cab. There was a message there, but she wasn't sure she got exactly what it was. 'Watch me,' maybe? Jones shot a glance back to her, clearly thinking the same thing. "You want us to follow him or stay here?" Nora asked.

"We should follow him?" Jones insisted.

"We do both," Deckard huffed, spinning around in his chair to look at them. "My guys stay and monitor the house. We'll follow Mr. Caffrey2.0."

The three of them climbed out of the van and piled into the standard bureau issue black SUV. Nora was, of course, relegated to the back seat. They followed the taxi at a safe distance until it came to a stop outside the car dealership Rebecca worked at. "I guess it's Put Your CI to Work Day," Jones mused, pulling up along the curb as Mozzie disappeared inside.

Nora eyed Deckard's belt. She didn't know exactly what was happening, but she knew it wasn't going to be much longer before the whole thing ended, one way or another. She was quickly running out of time to get her hands on the keys.

_Now or never_. She stepped out, a cool breeze blustering her hair around her. Keeping her back pressed against the SUV, she waited until Deckard rounded the rear end. He bumped into her, and she made the lift, cupping the keys carefully so they didn't rattle. "This way," she prompted, leading her the way Jones had headed.

Ducking behind a row of cars outside the dealership, they watched through a window as Mozzie and Rebecca chatted. Deckard peered through a pair of binoculars. "They gotta be talking about Burke and Franklin," he muttered.

Nora's phone started buzzing in her pocket, the caller ID listed as 'FBI (Main Switchboard).' Finally; she hated not knowing what was happening. "Excuse me, gentlemen. I gotta take this." She darted over to the next car, Deckard staring incredulously after her. "This is Nora."

"Hey," Peter greeted, "are you with Deckard?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Are you there, sir?" Peter continued, clearly no longer talking to her.

"I am," Bancroft assured him.

Deckard was glaring daggers. "Who is that?" he demanded.

"Tell him it's Bancroft," Peter advised.

She stared dryly at Deckard. "It's Bancroft," she snapped, holding up a hand impatiently.

"Diana should be with Stan Volker," Peter continued.

She peeked over the hood of the car she crouched behind. Diana and Stan had just entered, Mozzie and Rebecca standing to greet them. "Yeah, uh-huh," she confirmed lightly. "That's correct."

Deckard hissed in frustration, joining her behind the second car. "Give me the phone," he ordered, hand outstretched expectantly.

She waved him away. "I think Deckard wants to speak to you," she warned them before passing the phone over. The man was silent for a moment. "Did you lose him?"

He ignored her. "It's Deckard, sir." She could faintly hear Bancroft, but couldn't make out the words. "Yes, sir," Deckard relented, handing the phone back with anger in his eyes. He returned to peering across the street through the binoculars.

"I'm back," she said.

"Okay," Peter huffed. "Have you ever run a prisoner's dilemma?"

"I've been in one," she admitted, their plan finally starting to come together.

Peter laughed darkly under his breath. "Well, now's your chance to run it on a US Marshal. Clear on what to do?"

"Crystal clear," she assured him with a slight smirk. "Thank you, sir." She hung up, catching Jones' gaze over Deckard's shoulder.

Stowing the phone back in her pocket, she darted back to his side. "What's going on?" he asked in her ear.

"Just follow my lead." In the dealership, the conversation seemed to be quite serious, Stan Volker looking beside himself, scrubbing his forehead and running a hand through his hair.

Deckard glared over to Nora. "What are they doing in there?" he demanded, as if she would have had any more idea than he did.

She rolled with it, staring him down, a small smile playing on her lips. "I think you know what they're doing in there." His face creased with worry. He turned back to the show across the street. Stan had begun to pace, and Diana was flipping through papers from a file. He returned to his seat and signed the paper in front of him.

"Volker's cutting a deal with the FBI," Nora lied cheerfully. "He's selling you out." Slowly, he climbed to his feet, ambling forward in a daze. Nora and Jones followed after him. "Yup, there it is. A signed confession. See, once you showed up in Volker's office, he knew it was only a matter of time before you turned on him. He made a deal."

Deckard rounded on her slowly, drawing out his gun. She flinched back, but Jones returned in kind. "Come on, Deckard," the agent barked. "Don't make it harder than it is."

Inside, Volker had noticed the commotion they were causing. Deckard glared at the man, gun now trained on Jones.

"Give it up," Jones ordered.

"Stay back."

The Marshal turned to run. "Hands up, Deckard," Peter shouted, racing forward with his own gun drawn, Jack following closely. "It's over." Now outnumber, Deckard froze, hands above his head.

"Put the gun down on the ground," Jones called, and the man complied. The backup came swarming in, and Jones cuffed him. Peter glanced over at Nora, and she smiled brightly back.

There was only one thing left to do. She strolled over to Peter. "You realized the grief you caused me with Bancroft when you fled?" she scolded. Inside, Diana was cuffing Volker.

"Yeah," Peter scoffed, "this side of a manhunt is all peaches and dandelions, is it?"

She peered over her shoulder at Deckard. "It beats being led away in cuffs," she decided. She turned back to the Marshal. "Good working with you, Deckard." She clapped him on the shoulder, using the moment of distraction to return his keys back to his belt, sans the one that would unlock her anklet. He rolled his eyes, shoving past her as Jones led him away.

* * *

The sun was already starting to rise. Nora, Diana, and Jones waited in the bullpen while Peter and Bancroft spoke privately in Peter's office. The long day had taken its toll on all of them. Jones yawned heavily, stretching his neck periodically. Diana had bags under her eyes. Nora's hair had frizzed out hours ago. None of them spoke while they waited.

Finally, the men exited the office, parting ways, and Peter hurried down the stairs. "How'd it go?" Jones asked.

"They've cleared Franklin of all charges," Peter announced. "Bancroft's reinstating him into the White Collar Division. It's great work everyone. Let's get some rest." Jones and Diana didn't need to be told twice. They scooped up their belongings and high-tailed it for the elevator.

Nora ambled behind. "Ahem, Nora," Peter said, stopping her. "Good work."

"Thank you," she said softly, watching him head through the glass doors. She meandered after them, sullen despite their win, and leaned lightly on the glass. "Yeah, I'll be headed home, too. Won't be going to the Powell today, because, you know, it's outside my radius." Peter rubbed his temple as the three retreated into the elevator. "Please?" The door slid closed.

Pouting a little, she flopped down at her desk, turning the small silver key over in her hand. At least one good thing came out of the day – beyond clearing the name of a wrongly accused agent, of course. Her cellphone rang. "Thanks for playing last night, Moz," she said graciously after answering.

"Oh, the follow-the-leader stuff?" he scoffed. "That was child's play. The reason I'm calling now is because I've obtained some information since then."

She leaned forward in her seat, intrigued. "What'd you find?"

"I know who Kyle called from the plane." Her heart skipped a beat. "It was the FBI agent who set up the deal between you and Kyle."

"Garrett Fowler," she hissed. The key glinted in her hand. "Now I need to find him."

"Caffrey," Bancroft called from up above, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. She glanced up, and he double finger-pointed her. For a moment, she wondered if he'd seen the key, or it had been discovered missing after all.

"I'll get right back to you," she huffed to Mozzie before hanging up. She turned her chair away from Bancroft and stowed the key in her pocket quickly before standing, grabbing her blazer off the back.

It was buttoned back in place by the time she reached the office door. "Ahem. Sir?"

He looked up from something he was reading at his desk. "Come here." With a pointed look, he held up a pamphlet from the Powell, advertising the White Bored exhibit. "You planning on seeing this?"

"Well, yeah, I was," she sighed, thankful it wasn't about the key but confused by the strange turn it had taken, "but, you know, it's out of my range and..."

"Uh-huh." He thumbed through it absently. "I've wanted to see this thing since it opened," he admitted. Hardly daring to believe her luck, she watched as he stood, pulling his jacket off the coat rack. He paused as he passed her. "Let's go." With a small smile, he clapped her on the shoulder.

She grinned. _Unexpected, but I will take it; beggars can't be choosers_. She raced after him. "You know, from the moment I met you, I could tell you were a man of refined tastes."

"I already agreed to go, Caffrey," he scoffed, but his tone was light. "Spare me the ass-kissing."

"Yes, sir," she laughed. On the way to the Powell, she regaled him with her knowledge of the artist and the exhibit. Unlike, Peter, he actually appreciated it and offered an engaged conversation in return rather than just bored sighs and rolled eyes. They must have looked like quite the pair, showing up at the Powell as soon as it opened and looking tired as hell. But it was worth it. The exhibit was everything she'd been hoping it would be.

She was utterly exhausted by the time she made it home. _Cake_, she thought idly as she slipped into bed, only taking the time to change and tuck the anklet key away for safe-keeping. The second her head hit the pillow, her eyes closed and she was dead to the world.

* * *

As before, the elevator clattered the whole way up, a rake and a bouquet of roses clutched in one hand. "Oh, I know, hon," Peter sighed into his cellphone. "I'll be home in fifteen minutes, tops… No, I can't wait either. Just a few hours sleep and I'll be yours all day… and night. Love you, hon." He hung up.

At the top, he followed the familiar hallway. Where before there had been Buddhist decorations, the loft was suddenly cleaned out. All that remained to say the little guy's presence there had been real was the small sand garden.

Peter walked toward it slowly. A note was traced in the sand. 'J. Edgar Hoover was here.' Peter chuckled. He should have expected as much. Of course Mozzie wasn't going to keep using a safe house that was no longer safe. Idly, he dragged the rake through the sand, etching a line under Mozzie's final message to the rickety, run-down loft before tossing the rake down on top of it.

He had a wife to get back to, and a missed date night to make up for.


	45. A Different Life

A/N: Wow. So, it's been a while. Life got super crazy. I started a new job. Stuff with family happened. I had other personal projects that needed attention to get done before the holidays. So, I just kinda put this on the back burner, not sure when I'd get back around to it again. Sorry for the long wait, and thanks for coming back after such a long hiatus. No promises on how regularly I'll be updating, but we'll see what happens.

* * *

Chapter Forty-Five

A Different Life

Fowler killed Kyle. Mozzie was certain of that, and she had no reason to doubt his information. After a year of holding Kyle over her head like a carrot on a stick to get the music box, he'd planned to stab her in the back in the end anyway, murder her and Kyle to neatly tie up any loose ends. In the following weeks, a silent seething anger consumed her. Her desperation to find the man grew and grew. She didn't know what she would do when she found him, but that hardly mattered; she had to actually _find _him first.

Still, life went on. Cases came and went. On the surface, she presented a calm, cool, and collected facade to Peter. It was too early to show her hand to him. He would only get in her way.

"That was a tough case," he protested as they stepped off the elevator; it was just like every morning. "It was a multi-million dollar embezzlement scam."

"I'll give that to you," she allowed, "but all you gotta do is follow the money." He rolled his eyes, not convinced. "Look, I'll show you. You have a quarter?"

"Will I get it back?" he huffed, very serious. Like a quarter was going to break the bank.

"Depends. If it disappears, can you find it?"

He smirked, digging a quarter out of his pocket. "What are you, a party clown?"

"I'm embezzling your quarter," she said, ignoring his teasing. "There's a crime in progress. Solve it." She did a simple slight-of-hand, pretending to pass the quarter from her right hand to her left, before revealing both hands to be empty.

Peter wasn't as easily tricked as he had been when they first started working together. "It's in your right pants pocket," he said flatly. "You didn't make the switch with your right hand. Case closed."

"How'd you know?" she prompted.

"Because I kept my eye on the quarter."

She grinned. "See? All you gotta do is follow the money."

"You're brilliant," he deadpanned, "but we've got a new case." She turned to head for the stairs. "Nora." With a sigh, she stopped and offered the quarter back. _Can't just let me have this one_. "Thank you."

Upstairs, they were greeted with several very unpleasant crime scene photos. She eyed them uneasily as the usual four looked over the case's files. "Since when do we handle murders?" she wondered. Sure, the occasional murder popped up from time to time, but it wasn't their usual white collar fare.

"Since it's linked to corporate espionage," Peter explained. That was certainly interesting, at least. She chewed idly on the end of a pen as he started going over the details they had. "The victim worked for Novice Systems."

"Tech firm?" Jones guessed.

"Yeah. They manufacture everything from cell phones to super computers. Meet Joseph Hayes." She took a quick look at the photo of their victim. He was sprawled out on the sidewalk, an empty brief case at his side. "He was Novice's lead R&D specialist. Dropped dead of a heart attack."

"What was he carrying?" Diana asked.

"A next-gen quantum microprocessor." Nora's brow furrowed. Tech was way more Mozzie's area than her own. "Anybody know what that is?"

"Sure," she lied. Peter stared at her pointedly, seeing through her instantly. "Yeah. It's a very small…"

"Tool," Jones supplied as she floundered.

"Tool."

"For binary code breaking," he concluded. Diana smirked, amused at seeing Nora drop the ball. If she was being honest, it kinda stung at her ego, but she did her best to shrug it off.

Peter continued on. "Novice was vying for a defense contract with several competitors. According to their PR, Hayes had a functioning prototype, which put them in the lead of that competition."

"How do we know he was murdered?" Nora wondered. Heart attack didn't exactly scream murder.

"Toxicology report," Jones explained. "It says there was digitalis in his bloodstream." That, however, _did_ scream murder.

"Somebody killed him," Peter asserted, "stole the prototype."

Nora nodded soberly. "Any suspects?" Diana asked.

"Wesley Kent, founder and CEO." He passed out copies of a second file. "He's pointing fingers at his competitors. But according to NYPD, he had an after-hours meeting on his calendar with Hayes on the night that he died. His initial statement contradicted the timeline from the coroner's report."

"In other words," Nora mused, "Kent's hiding something."

"Looks like it. That's why I'm sending someone in undercover to the company."

Nora beamed. Tech might not have been her area, but undercover jobs were. "I know a bit about corporate culture, so-" She started to stand.

"Sit down," Peter huffed. Smile faltering, she sunk down slowly, trying very hard to ignore Jones and Diana's thinly concealed smirks. "Novice has its annual audit scheduled for the beginning of next week. It's a perfect opportunity for us to get the access we haven't been allowed. Kent is expecting an accountant from Bainfield Financial to show up at his offices."

"Well, if I'm not going in," Nora muttered, trying not to feel too disappointed, "who is?" Peter drew himself up proudly, straightening his jacket and clearing his throat importantly.

They spent the next few days perfecting Peter's cover story and getting everything put in place to make it as convincing as possible. Nora tried not to show her bitterness that he was going under instead of her; she hated watching from the sidelines.

The morning Peter was set to go under, she arrived at the Burkes' home bright and early to help him get ready. She lounged on the couch, idly fidgeting with a baseball she'd found on the coffee table while he fastened the last couple buttons of his shirt in front of the mirror that hung over the mantle.

"Peter Lassen, CPA, at your service," he said to his reflection, trying to slip into the role. With that, he plucked his tie off the mantle.

"I thought you joined the FBI to avoid number crunching," she mused, tossing the baseball into the air and catching it. "Glad your accounting degree hasn't gone to waste."

"I was recruited by several Fortune 500 companies," he told her matter-of-factly, working on getting the knot in his tie perfectly straight. He turned around. "Single or double Windsor?"

"Single," she decided. "It's hard to picture you at a big financial firm. Would have been a life-changer."

He returned to the mirror. "That's true," he laughed.

"Some alternate universe, you'd be wearing power ties, doing power lunches, flying corporate jets."

"Doubt we'd have ever met," he added.

She considered it for a moment. "Well, maybe. Under different circumstances."

"Well, that's true," he allowed lightly. "You might have robbed the company."

"Yeah," she agreed, standing as he finished with his tie. "You could've had a mansion."

"I like my house," he dismissed and handed her a pair of cuff links.

He offered up his wrist, and she got to work fastening the cuffs. "Horse," she prompted, "a stable in the Hamptons."

He shrugged. "I've got a dog."

She smirked, finishing with one wrist and starting on the other. "No regrets, huh?"

"No. I've got the bureau. I've got Elizabeth." He paused for a moment, contemplative. "No. No regrets." He turned back to the mirror to straighten his tie one last time.

She'd expected nothing less from him. "Bainfield putting you up?" she wondered, changing the subject.

"Yeah. Company booked me in a suite at a four-star hotel."

"Impressive."

"Yeah." He rounded on her. "Almost as impressive as your getting Kyle's flight recorder data." She didn't respond, but he knew her well enough to see the slight change in her expression. "That's right. Spencer told me. Nora, if you're working on this, so am I."

"I'm not working on anything," she dismissed.

He was staring her down, eyes stern and hands on his hips. "Which means Mozzie's working on it." _He knows me just a little _too_ well_, she decided. "I want somebody from my team involved."

"Peter," she argued, "he is not-"

"No protests," he huffed. "We are working on this together."

She knew he wasn't going to change his mind and sighed heavily. "Alright," she relented. "Who did you have in mind?"

"Diana," he decided, picking up his jacket, satisfied he'd won.

"What?" she scoffed, taking the jacket as he spun around and helping him in. "She will eat him alive."

"Well, he's not much of a meal." He turned his back to her, but she could still see his face reflected in the mirror. "I want you to arrange a meeting."

"Are you sure this is-"

"Go." Rolling her eyes, she did as she was asked, leaving him to his own devices. _This is going to be a spectacular dumpster fire_, she mused, already trying to decide how she could get Mozzie on board.

* * *

Peter pushed his way through the spinning door into the building containing Novice Systems' office, briefcase in hand, taking in the clean, elegant décor of the lobby. "Peter Lassen," he introduced himself to the man standing behind the front desk.

"Can I see your bag, please?" the man requested. Peter handed it over.

A professionally dress woman with a high, black ponytail joined them, smiling kindly as she placed a plastic tray on the table next to him. "The basket is for your phone," she explained. They seemed to take their security very seriously. Peter fished his phone from his breast pocket. "I'm Ellen Samuels, Mr. Kent's personal assistant." He shook her hand before placing his phone in the basket. "Sorry for the security, but we can't risk visitors leaving with any sensitive information."

"I understand."

"You can pick up your phone and your laptop at the front desk on your way out. If you'll just follow me, Mr. Kent would like a word before you start." She led him away from the lobby, pulling a security badge off her hip as they neared a small gate. She swiped the card, and the doors of the gate swung open with a soft _beep_. "After you."

"Thank you." Peter followed her, surveying the hallways they passed through discreetly. He felt a bit like Nora, taking note of security cameras and points where badge access was required. It was a quick elevator ride up, and a key card protected door before they stepped into the lobby of Novice Systems.

"Sorry we can't give you your own swipe key," Ellen apologized, not sounding entirely too sorry. "They're for employees only. Executive offices are just around the corner." He followed her past glass-walled conference rooms and into a spacious corner office with a generous view of the city. A man stood behind the desk with his back to them, staring idly out, hands clasped behind his back. "Mr. Kent. This is Mr. Lassen."

The man turned, looking over Peter with a curious, scrutinizing gaze. "Mr. Kent," Peter greeted, walking up to the desk, "pleasure to meet you."

"Wesley, please," the man insisted with a kind smile as he moved to shake Peter's hand. "Mind if I call you Peter?"

"No, not at all."

"Good. You're gonna be with us for the week, might as well work on a first-name basis."

Peter chuckled. He wasn't sure what he expected from a company CEO – let alone murder suspect – but Wesley wasn't quite it, seemingly open and friendly. Though, of course, outward appearances were often deceiving and first impressions meant very little when you were talking to someone with lots of secrets.

"Most CEOs aren't as welcoming to an external auditor," Peter joked.

Wesley scoffed. "Well, you're just looking at our books." He gestured to Ellen, who had two glasses in hand, an inch of amber liquid swirling around the bottom. "Armagnac, my daily vice. I thought that we could, uh, you know, drink to your new home for the week." Wesley rounded the table and grabbed the glassed offered to him.

"Ah, sorry, but not on the job," Peter explained politely.

Wesley shrugged, bringing the glass up. "Suit yourself."

"I'll be coordinating with my team at Bainfield Financial," Peter continued, moving on to business. "The first thing I'll need to send to them are expense reports from your senior staff."

Wesley took a swig. "Whatever you want, we will provide," he assured Peter. "And Miss Samuels is at your service."

"If you could just show me where to set up."

Wesley stared at him blankly. "I'm sorry?"

"My office," Peter prompted. "Where is it?"

The man passed his glass off to Ellen, rounding the table with a wry grin playing on his lips. "Peter, this is your office." With a clap on Peter's shoulder, Wesley headed out the door, Ellen on his heels. Dumbfounded, Peter stared around the space. He had assumed the large, elegant office was Wesley's. He wondered what the man's _actual_ office looked like, if this was the office he reserved for an external auditor.

Nora had been right; it would have been a very different life, if he had opted to pursue a career in accounting rather than going into the FBI. Peter rounded the desk, taking Wesley's spot to gaze out the window over the stunning view before him. _I could get used to this_.


	46. Teamwork

Chapter Forty-Six

Teamwork

After not even five minutes of having Mozzie and Diana in the same place, and Nora already felt like an overworked babysitter. The two stared at her with disdain, and at each other with contempt. Neither of them wanted to be there, and neither of them relished the idea of working together. "We all want the same thing, alright?" Nora said diplomatically, holding up her hands in a gesture of peace. "Now, if we can come together… _together _being the key word, we can move forward."

Both of them pouted, arms crossed in front of their chests. "Look," Mozzie huffed, "if I'm gonna spend my time working with Lady Suit, it better be worth it."

Nora opened her mouth to say something, but was cut off by Diana. "And if I'm gonna spend _my _precious time supervising your pocket-sized pal, he better watch what he says."

Nora rolled her eyes, lips pursed tightly together as she resigned to just letting them duke it out themselves for a moment. "Why are you even here?" Mozzie huffed.

"Because my boss asked me. You?"

"Uh, because Nora asked me."

Diana raised an eyebrow. "So Nora's your boss?"

"Hey, I answer to no one, Nancy Drew," Mozzie snapped. _A dumpster fire indeed_, Nora thought bitterly, squeezing her eyes closed against the headache should could feel growing behind her eyes. She pinched the bridge of her nose as Mozzie rounded on her. "I already have one fed in my life."

She waved him down, trying to think of anything that would reassure him. Once again, Diana didn't give her the chance, rounding on Nora herself. "And I've got plenty of crooks."

"Hey," Nora snapped, fed up of their childish squabbling. "Hey. We need to find Fowler. We know Kyle tried to contact him after Peter showed up at the hanger that day." The reminder of their purpose for being there softened their faces. For once, she welcomed the pitying stares that accompanied any mention of Kyle, if only for the fact it got them back on task. "He's the only one who can tell us what really happened. Please."

"Fine," Mozzie conceded, not looking too happy about it. "But I have rules."

"You have rules?" Diana echoed skeptically. Nora sighed under her breath. Her tactic of playing on their sympathy for her was more short-lived than she'd hoped.

"You will meet me with all the pertinent files at a time and place of my choosing," Mozzie explained. "I will contact you via express courier. You will receive a package. In that package will be a sonnet giving clues to our rendezvous point." Nora stared at him dryly. He was being ridiculous.

"You wanna send me a sonnet?" Diana huffed.

"Yeah."

"I don't do scavenger hunts or poems," she said flatly as Nora's phone started ringing.

Grateful for the distraction, Nora checked the caller ID. "Ah, this is Jones."

"Go," Diana sighed. "I can handle this."

"I don't get handled," Mozzie protested.

"Guys," Nora snapped. "Please. Adults." She fled in the opposite direction. At that point, she didn't care if they tore each other apart, as long as she didn't have to be there to watch. She answered the phone. "You have great timing, Jones," she sighed. "Thank you."

He chuckled, though it was a little tense. "How soon can you get back to the office?"

"Ten minutes?"

"Great. I'll be waiting for you." He hung up, and she wondered what could possibly be wrong now.

She hustled back. Jones was waiting in the conference room, shoulders tight. He checked his watch impatiently as she reached the top of the stairs. "Hey," she greeted. "We good?"

"Yeah, we're good," he assured her. He gestured toward the laptop open in front of him. "Warrant came through for the Novice hard drive. So, we'll be looking for anything relevant to Hayes." On the screen, a window displayed a loading animation, the message 'WAITING FOR CONNECTION' across the top. That explained Jones' impatience. "Come on, Peter. Where are you?"

* * *

Peter ran through a list of everything he though the Bureau – and an auditor – would need to take a peek at with Ellen as they walked back toward his office. "And an index of your earnings report," he concluded, flipping idly through a file she'd already given him.

"Can I get you anything else?"

"I'm fine."

"Coffee?" she prompted.

"Sure, coffee."

"Espresso, cappuccino, macchiato..?"

Peter froze, reminded very much of Nora and her obsession with 'good' coffee. "Regular coffee's fine," he insisted.

Ellen was still not satisfied. "You you have a preferred blend?"

"Just plain old coffee."

Ellen smiled politely, like someone trying to explain a difficult concept to a small child. "We have a Brazil Burbon Santos, a Panamanian Boquette, and an Ethiopian Sidamo." Peter didn't answer, not even sure they were still talking about coffee. Ellen leaned in close, leaning on his desk. "I prefer the Mediterranean espresso. The beans are imported from the Cafe Vivace in Rome."

_That_, Peter understood. "Italian roast?" It was his secret weakness, ever since Nora had inadvertantly introduced him to it. _God, that feels like forever ago…_ He cleared his throat, realizing he'd gotten distracted. "Yeah. Let's go with that one." With a smile, Ellen stood and left him to his work.

He sat down at his desk, watching her go. Once he was sure she was out of eyesight, and no one else happened to be looking in, he pulled off one of his cufflinks that Nora had helped him into earlier that morning. It was yet another FBI toy, a secret USB flash drive that would give Jones back at the Bureau access to everything Peter had on the computer in front of him.

Peter watched as the computer's cursor moved of its own accord, remotely controlled by Jones. "And we're in," he mused. Barely five minutes had passed before Ellen returned. Peter stood to meet her around the desk. "That was fast."

"A cataloged index of our earnings reports," she offered, handing him a flash drive.

"Excellent."

"And here's your espresso."

She handed him a tiny white mug on a saucer. "Thank you." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the screen change, returning back to the standard background. Jones had gotten through.

"I assume you have everything you need?" Ellen asked.

"I do now." With a nod, she turned and headed out once more, and Peter sank down into his chair. He took a sip from the tiny espresso; it was better than he'd hoped it would be. "Yeah," he mused, content, "that's good."

Peter finished the day, keeping busy with his accounting act. No one raised any questions, and he made his way back to his hotel that evening after picking up his phone and laptop in the lobby. He wasted no time when he got back, setting up his laptop and starting a Skype call with El.

She answered quickly, and he adjusted the angle of the screen. "Can you see me?" he asked.

"I can."

He smirked. It was great seeing her smiling face beaming up at him, even if it be over a screen. "Look at us being a modern couple," he mused.

"I know," she laughed. "Okay, so how's the room?"

"Oh, not a room, honey. It's a suite." He picked up the computer and spun it around, giving her a virtual tour. "See for yourself."

"Looks pretty fantastic," she agreed.

"Oh, wait a minute. Look at this view." He took the camera over to the window, capturing the breathtaking scene of Central Park, and the city sprawled out around it. "There's a button that opens the curtains automatically. And..." He spun around toward the piano. "I've got a baby grand."

"Well, it looks like you have everything you need," she sighed, trying to hide the twinge of sadness in her tone.

He flipped her back around to face him. "Well, not everything…. Let me show you the best part of the room." He returned to the table, sitting the computer down and sinking into the comfy chair. With a smile, he showed her his favorite thing; a photo of her that he'd brought with him, proudly displayed on the table. "You."

"Aw. Thanks for bringing me along." There was a sharp knock on the door. "Alright, now get back to work," she sighed.

"I miss you."

"Miss you back." With a final look at her lovely smile, Peter closed the computer, cutting off the call.

Peter stood, drawing himself up and slipping back into character as he headed for the door. Unsurprisingly, Nora stood on the other side. "Anybody see you?"

"No," she assured him idly, eyes already fawning over the room like a kid in a candy store. "I doubled back through the service entrance. You sweep the place?"

"Yeah, the minute I walked in. It's clean."

She welcomed herself in, her heels clicking loudly over the expensive flooring, and let out a low whistle. "Nice digs, Peter. Maybe you picked the wrong universe to live in."

"Nope," he decided. She froze in her tracks by the minibar and started to help herself. "No, no. Stay out of there." He closed the door pointedly. "Six bucks for a candy bar."

She blinked her big, blue eyes innocently. "Yeah, it's on the tab." She started digging through the selection of chips. "Embrace your hypothetical self."

"I don't do hypothetical." He snatched a candy bar out of her hand and placed it back in the basket.

"Oh, we speculate all the time," she dismissed.

"On our cases," he huffed. "Not on my life choices." He gave her a pointed look. "No touching." She rolled her eyes, but didn't move to grab anything else. Satisfied, Peter turned away. "Come on, what do you have?"

She pulled some papers out of her purse. "Didn't get anything on Kent, but Jones something pretty interesting on Hayes' computer." He took the paper from her and they each took a seat.

"Failed password attempts," Peter mused, reading over what they'd found.

She nodded. "The day Hayes died, someone tried to access his office desktop. They tried variations on his birthday, a bunch of song titles, and the name of the dog he had as a kid."

"Somebody had a close relationship with him," he realized.

"Looks like Novice has a mole."

Peter paused to consider their information. "Okay. Kent and his upper management can access any email account that they want. They wouldn't have to go fishing for a password."

"We can rule them out."

"Well, we need to dig into the junior execs." He huffed. "Since I'm the auditor, I can't be hanging around the water cooler." He fixed her with a pointed look. "But maybe you could."

A smile split her lips, eyes sparkling excitedly as she leaned forward. "You're sending me in? How?"

"Kent's kissing my butt," Peter explained. "He wants a clean audit so badly, that maybe he'd hire a friend of mine who's looking for work in marketing." Her eyes went far away as she worried her lower lip, likely already thinking up a good cover story. "If I pull the strings, think you can land the job?"

"Marketing?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. She considered it for a moment, leaning back in her seat. "I can do marketing."

* * *

Nora landed the job. Obviously. And, thanks to Peter's string pulling, she started immediately. A couple of her new coworkers – a man named Andrew and a woman named Jessica – stopped to introduce themselves, curious about the newcomer. She lavished in the attention, pulling out a confidant persona. The inevitable question of what she'd done previously came up, and Nora was ready for it. It had to be something that _sounded_ somewhat impressive, but not enough that anybody would bother fact-checking. "I had Westen Farms conduct a poll on what people found aesthetically pleasing in their cereal bowls. You know what people like to see?"

"What?" Andrew asked blankly.

"Raisins."

Both of the snickered, clearly not expecting that answer. "Raisins?" he scoffed.

"Well, a finite amount of raisins. Market research gave us the key formula. Six-to-one flake-to-raisin ratio. I made sure every box we packaged met that standard. Sales went through the roof."

"That's how you got this job?" another man scoffed, standing up from his desk. "Breakfast cereal?"

"Well, ready-to-eat cereal market, ten-point-seven billion last year," she said with a shrug.

"Right," the man laughed. "With the little plastic prizes in the box."

"Yeah," she mused, rounding on him with a tight smile. "That's billion. With a B. But tech's where it's at. That's why I want to talk to you guys. You know, get some pointers. Want to grab some drinks later?"

"Oh, well we already booked a dinner at Drayton's, so..." Andrew explained, looking at the others.

"Oh, you should come!" Jessica offered.

"Jessica," the other man warned.

Jessica gave him a pointed look. "Screw you, Trent. Andrew?"

"Fine by me," he agreed with a shrug.

"See?"

"Fine," Trent allowed before Nora could answer, staring at her with a tight smile. "We can play the game." The others shifted. "She can play the game, right?"

Nora raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What's the game?"

"It's a little tradition we have around here," he explained. "Called credit card roulette. Go out, run up a nice tab. Throw all our company cards on the table, and let the server pick one."

"And that card foots the bill," she concluded. _Easy enough to rig…_

"It blows your dinner budget for the month," Andrew added.

"You up for it?" Trent challenged.

She grinned up at him. "Lock and load, Trent."

A woman Nora had seen only briefly before approached them; Ellen, Kent's personal secretary. "Miss Danbury," she called. "Grace. The auditor would like to see you. He spoke to Accounting and has some questions about your 2009 W2s."

"Uh-oh," Nora said lightly, standing. By this point, quite a crowd had gathered around the see the new kid in class. "Excuse me. See you guys later." She followed after Ellen.

"I don't like her," she heard Trent grumble behind her. _Feeling's mutual, bub_.


	47. After Hours

Chapter Forty-Seven

After Hours

Ellen led Nora to Peter's office, turning to leave them in privacy as soon as Nora was through the door. It was definitely a swanky office, she had to admit. Peter was doing pretty well for himself in his pretend alternate life. She grinned at him as she stepped toward his desk. Peter spun around in his chair. "You are stepping up in the world," she mused.

"Well, it's not really my office."

She sank down into a sleek office chair opposite Peter. "Oh, can it be mine?"

"You already have a workspace."

"Oh, yeah," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "I get a cubicle. You get a palace." She tossed her bag down on the desk.

"I work harder," he teased with a shrug.

"Yeah."

He gave her a pointed look. "Purse." With a dark look, she snatched it back. "How's the marketing department?"

"Oh, a nice blend of smarmy and suspicious. I'll narrow it down later." She flashed a cocky grin. "I'm meeting everyone for dinner tonight."

"Oh," he mused before picking up a tiny mug and taking a sip. Her face fell, incredulous. "Espresso?"

"I've always liked espresso."

"No more ugly FBI mugs for you." He ignored her. "I think you missed your calling." Still, he said nothing, pursing his lips and waiting for her to get it out of her system. "Tiny cup, big office, expensive suits," she prompted, undeterred.

"Ugly mugs are fine," he huffed.

"Don't fight your instincts, Peter. Embrace your true self."

"You done?"

"I can keep going."

"You're done." _It was fun while it lasted_. His brow furrowed for a moment, and she got the feeling it was unrelated to her teasing. "What time is dinner tonight?"

"Nine," she said, leaning forward, suddenly very serious. "What are you thinking?"

"If we do have a mole, we might be able to bait him." He fixed her with a serious look. "You're pretty good at chit-chat, right?"

As if he even had to ask. "Want me to spread some gossip?"

"Tell everyone that you noticed I was looking into Hayes' files. Maybe I found something interesting."

She twirled a curl around her finger, picking up Peter's plan. "Let him think you found something on the dead guy. Our mole will want to poke around your office."

"Yeah. Make him want to come to us."

She smirked, drawing herself up confidently. "I'm on it."

* * *

The junior executives picked an expensive restaurant for their game of credit card roulette. Whoever lost would certainly have a hell of a tab to pay. They treated the menu like bets in a game of high-stakes poker, each person trying their hardest to one-up the last order. Nora played along; who was she to turn down a lavish dinner on someone else's dime?

"How much was the smoked squab?" Trent asked, curious.

"More than the lobster tartine, Trent," Andrew said dryly.

Trent shrugged. "Which is why I had to raise you with the Opus."

"Three bottles of Opus?" Jessica scoffed. Trent just smirked.

"No matter who loses," Nora injected, "someone's gonna have to answer to Accounting."

Trent turned to face her. "Or Kent himself."

"I haven't met him yet," she mused.

"Look, the only think you need to know about the boss is that he likes the high life almost as much as quarterly profits," Jessica explained helpfully.

"_And_," Andrew added, "he also likes his daily Armagnac." Peter had mentioned that, but Nora nodded along as if this was new and useful information. "Buying him a bottle every now and then will… help you stay on his good side."

"Thanks for the tip," she said graciously. She dropped her voice down low, picking up her glass and keeping her head down low. "So, um… what happened with Joseph Hayes?" Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Jessica turn to stare at her. Andrew's face took a hard edge, and Trent's eyes went a little wide. She took a sip and sat her glass down, taking in the faces around her, everyone now silent. "He was head of R&D, right? He was working on the quantum processor. I mean, someone told me he was murdered."

Jessica took in deep breath. "Uh, why do you care?" Her voice was tight, barely keeping steady.

Nora turned to her with innocent eyes. "Oh, when I was in the auditor's office, Hayes' file was on his desk."

Andrew's eyes narrowed. "Why is the auditor looking into Hayes?"

"I don't know," Nora lied with a shrug. "He had all your files, too."

"Are you serious?" Trent muttered.

"Yeah."

Jessica was stiff and uneasy next to her. _She has something to hide_. "Oh, here comes the bill," the woman said tightly, changing the subject.

Everyone was silent for a moment, recovering from the grim topic. Trent cleared his throat. "Well, alright." They all dug out their company credit cards from their wallets or purses. The waitress handed Trent the bill, and he hummed theatrically as he flipped open the bill fold.

"What's the damage?" Nora wondered.

"What is it?" Andrew muttered, trying to peer over Trent's shoulder.

"Ooh, ouch," Trent hissed, snapping the cover closed. "Two thousand." He rounded on Nora again. "So, miss cereal expert, in or out?"

"Oh, I'm in," she assured him.

"Alright." She held out her hand expectantly, and they all passed her their cards. She shuffled them expertly, like playing cards, mixing them up. She closed her eyes, turning her head away from the cards. "I'm not looking," she said. "I'm not looking." Even with her eyes closed, it was easy enough to keep track of her card – and Trent's. Satisfied, she fanned out the cards and held them out toward the waitress. "You do the honors?"

Trent grinned up at her. "Pick a winner, honey."

The waitress looked down at the cards as Nora brushed her thumb over them. Trent's card, she knew without needing to see, poked out just a hair in front of the rest. Nora let her thumb linger over it for just a second longer than the others. It was a subtle mental manipulation, but it had served her well in the past.

And, most importantly, it worked. As expected, she plucked Trent's card from the fan of cards, holding it up for them to see.

"Ooh, guess you win, Trent," Andrew said in a mock tone of pity, clapping him on the chest. Trent scowled down at the table, likely trying to figure out whether or not Nora had rigged it against him. The rest of the table laughed at their friend's expense as Nora passed the cards back to their rightful owners.

"That's great," Nora teased. "Yeah, I owe you. Hope that bonus comes through." They finished up, laughing and chatting idly, Trent giving her a scathing side-eye all the while.

The group parted ways outside the restaurant in good spirits, and Nora headed back toward Novice Systems. She loitered a couple blocks away for a while, giving their mole time to get in ahead of her before she made her move. The office seemed, at first glance, deserted when she stepped through the frosted glass door. The lights overhead cast everything in a dim yellow glow as she strolled silently inside.

She could see a reflection on the window of Peter's office, someone moving around inside, just out of sight behind the wall. "Gotcha," she muttered. Unsurprisingly, it was Jessica who stood, rifling through the drawers of a wooden filing cabinet. The woman caught sight of Nora out of the corner of her eye as she lingered in the doorway and jumped. "Jessica."

Jessica slammed the drawer shut and straightened up, flashing what was supposed to be an innocent smile. She had the look of a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. "Grace, hey. You surprised me."

"Really? You don't like surprises?"

Jessica huffed out a nervous laugh before dropping her smile. Her stance was rigid, eyeing Nora with cautious eyes. "What are you doing here?" There was accusation in her tone as she tried to turn the situation back on Nora.

"Working late," Nora lied smoothly. She glanced theatrically at the cabinet Jessica had been searching before meeting the woman's gaze again. "What about you?" Jessica pursed her lips. "What are you doing in the auditor's office?"

"You told me the auditor was looking into us. I don't like anyone looking into my life, personally or professionally."

Nora raised an eyebrow. "That's a little hypocritical, considering your current position, don't you think?"

"You said you were working late," Jessica mused, trying once more to get the conversation off of herself. "What is it you're working on, Grace?"

Nora had done her homework. "I needed to see R&D's field studies on the new product launch."

"Oh, those are in Records on twelve."

"Twelve?" Jessica hummed a confirmation. "Got it." Nora didn't move, and the two stood, staring each other down for a brief moment.

"So, uh, why didn't you call security?" the woman asked, still suspicious. "You could have reported me."

Nora shrugged. "I'm here after hours. I could be up to anything." A quick smile crossed Jessica's lips. "Which means you could probably report me, too."

"Well..." Jessica grabbed her purse off the cabinet and took a step toward Nora. "I won't tell if you won't." Nora nodded slowly, and the woman pushed past her and headed for the elevator without another word or even a glance back.


	48. Tension

Chapter Forty-Eight

Tension

Peter sighed, content as he sipped on a tiny cup of espresso in the luxury of his hotel suite, a soft white bathrobe wrapped around him. Night had long since fallen over the city while he waited for Nora to report in after her dinner with the junior execs. His eyes fell on the picture of El, smiling serenely up at him. "You're probably asleep right now," he mused. "Oh, I know it's too late for coffee, but this is Ethiopian Saidamo. It's not decaf. And it's delicious." The cup clinked against its saucer as he sunk back into the sofa, a small laugh escaping his lips.

"I know I'll be tossing all night, which would probably drive you crazy," he continued, "if you were here or I was there." He sat the cup down next to him. "Yup. This could have been my life." A life of luxury, the kind Nora always seemed to be chasing after in her half-cocked, devil-may-care manner. "Any regrets?" He brushed the thoughts away. "No."

"But it's not all that bad," he decided as an afterthought. "Coffee's good, and we should think about silk sheets." He grinned, tugging on the end of his robe. "I never saw myself as a robe guy, but I don't know. When in Rome."

A knock on the door pulled him out of his introspection. He huffed, hauling himself to his feet. "Room service," Nora's sing-song voice called.

"I love you," he muttered to El's picture before headed for the door. "Coming."

Nora laughed as she pushed past him, taking in the image of Peter in his fluffy white robe. "Look at you. What, you staying in character in case I'm one of Kent's minions?"

He glared at her, but her grin said she was not deterred. "Alright, what do you have?"

She offered him a yellow folder. "She took the bait."

He pulled out the papers and started reading. "Hm. Jessica Breslin." Nora made herself at home once again on the couch, and Peter sat opposite of her. "She's been at the company for the last fourteen months."

"When did Novice put in its bid for the defense contract?"

"Eighteen months ago."

The joking was gone from her eyes as she focused on the case. "So, it's possible she's spying for one of their competitors."

It was as good a theory as any. "She could lead us to whoever she's working for."

"Room service," a man's voice called. It was about time.

"Yeah, come on in," Peter called, straightening out the papers and setting them on the table.

"Keeping up appearances?" Nora wondered, that glint of teasing back in her blue eyes.

"A man has to eat," he shot back.

A man in a black suit wheeled in a cart. "Your Kobe steak, sir."

"Ah, thank you." He could feel Nora's eyes boring into the back of his head and ignored her.

"You're welcome, sir." The man retreated for the door.

"Nothing but the best for Peter Lassen, CPA extraordinaire" Nora teased.

He rounded on her, tired of her quips. "I think you're jealous I got the penthouse and you got the paperwork for once." he said sharply.

She rolled her eyes. "It's true," she said dryly. "Up is down, black is white."

"Well, let's focus on Jessica."

Not looking too happy about it, Nora moved on. "She's been sending out a lot more mail since Hayes died. Most of it to a P.O. box in White Plains."

Peter's brow furrowed. "The company doesn't do any business in White Plains."

"Exactly."

"I'll have Jones get a warrant for that P.O. box," he decided. "You get a chance to check out Jessica's office, take it."

"Sure."

Peter turned back to the cart. A small envelope caught his eye. "Huh..." He pulled a small card on thick, expensive card stock out. 'Dinner Tomorrow Evening at Drayton's 8:00 p.m. W.K.'

"What's that?" Nora asked.

"Looks like Kent's inviting me to dinner tomorrow night." He sat the envelope down and lifted the cloche off the tray. "Ooh, look at that." He pointedly avoided glancing at Nora as he taunted her with his fancy dinner. He got the distinct impression she was glaring daggers into the back of his skull. "Wow, this smells delicious. You want some?"

"Hmm. I probably shouldn't." Her tone was indifferent, but Peter knew perfectly well it was an act as she tried not let him under her skin.

"You sure?" he prompted.

"I ate before I came." Her voice was decidedly tight.

"Oh, you had some Kobe as well?" She made a non-commental noise as he started cutting the steak. "What is Kobe beef?" he wondered, knowing her need to prove she knew everything would rear its head. She didn't answer, and when Peter glanced back at her, she was staring darkly in the opposite direction, lips tight.

In the end, Peter couldn't keep being cruel forever, no matter how fun it was to watch her seethe. He cut her off a small portion of the steak and sat down next to her, offering her a fork and knife without a word. She stared for a moment before sighing in resignation, swallowing her pride and taking the utensils. She was back in a better mood by the time they finished, helped no doubt by her in-depth explanation about Kobe beef that Peter really didn't care about. Both full and satisfied with their fancy meal, he sent her home; they both needed to get some sleep if they wanted to make any progress on their case.

* * *

Diana sighed impatiently. Sitting in Nora's apartment with the weird little bald guy wasn't how she wanted to spend her lunch hour, and she definitely didn't want to waste it watching him obsessively clean his laptop for ten minutes, but there she was regardless. After ensuring the screen was spotless, he began running a q-tip between the keys on the keyboard with much more attention than she thought was necessary.

She threw her hands up in exasperation. "Are you ready yet?"

"I have a process," he snapped. "I didn't even get to write my sonnet yet." He sounded somewhat upset about that fact.

"You have OCD," Diana muttered, slouching back in her chair.

"Uh, some might call it 'highly attentive.'" She rolled her eyes. "Okay. I did a full background check on Fowler." He turned the computer so she could see the screen. "There's been no hits on his credit cards, bank accounts, or passport." She read over the information he'd compiled. "I've showed you mine, you show me yours."

She glared at him. "Don't ever say that again."

His face fell. "Understood."

She pulled a file out of her bag and handed it over. "This is all we have on him."

"This is just Fowler's resignation from the Bureau."

"Yeah, as of five weeks ago. OPR booted him, swept the whole under the rug." Neither of them spoke for a moment.

A knock on the door broke the silence and Nora's landlady walked in. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

"Oh, no, not at all," Mozzie assured her. "You are but a welcome and striking reprieve from the bureaucratic oppression in my midst."

Diana rolled her eyes, but to her surprised, June laughed. It was genuine, and the corners of her eyes crinkled. "Isn't he charming?"

"He has a way with words," Diana allowed.

"Yes he does. I wanted to speak to you for a moment, please. Peter gave me some forms regarding Nora's housing arrangements and I'm not sure that I understand them." June showed her a thick packet of paperwork.

"Oh, sure," Diana agreed, glad for a moment away from Nora's strange little pal, and stood to help her.

"Of course you can't understand them," Mozzie ranted. "Bureaucracy has vested interest in creating the chaos in which they exist."

Both women ignored him, and June pointed out a passage that she didn't understand. "Oh, yeah. It says that you can set Nora's curfew if you want. You can also establish any procedure you deem appropriate for preventing a criminal relapse."

June's brow furrowed. "Hm. I think Nora is doing just fine." That was one way of putting it. "We'll talk later."

Diana smiled. "Okay." She returned to the table.

"Bye, Mozzie," June called over her shoulder as she headed out.

"Bye, June.

Diana started scooping up her things. "I gotta get back to my office in twenty minutes. I need copies of every statement you have."

"Oh, of course," Mozzie agreed easily. "I'll email them to you." He flashed a tight smile.

She returned the gesture, wondering what schemes he was hiding, but decided she was better off not knowing. With that, she followed out after June and made her way back toward the Bureau.

* * *

The next morning, Nora casually kept her eye on Jessica. Or, more specifically, Jessica's office, waiting for any opening to get a peek inside. It wouldn't be the easiest, given the open floor plan of the room. At any given time, there could be a half-dozen people milling about who could possibly catch Nora in the act. Then again, she'd done more with less.

Out of the corner of her eye, Nora saw Jessica stand to leave, slinging her large handbag over her shoulder. Jessica stopped by Andrew's office. "Lunch?" she asked.

"Yup." He stood and joined her, the two disappearing from sight. The crowd in the office had thinned considerably, and Nora decided it was as good a time as any to slip in. She snagged a can of compressed air and an envelope from under her desk and walked in like she had nothing to hide.

She got to work, rifling through the letters in Jessica's outbox on the edge of her desk. One was addressed to the P.O. box in White Plains. With a glance over her shoulder, Nora sprayed the envelope with the compressed air. It was an international travel itinerary reserved for Kent. As she read, her ears caught Andrew's voice just over the din of the office crowd. She hastily returned the letters to the outbox and pressed her back against the open door where she would be out of the line of sight of Andrew's office.

Jessica and Andrew were chatting idly about work, and Nora risked a peek around the corner. Neither were focused toward Jessica's office, and Nora took the opportunity to slide smoothly back to her desk. Not a moment too soon, either, as Jessica stepped out of Andrew's office and headed back toward her own, flashing a friendly smile at Nora as she passed, some quick light lunch in a plastic cup in her hand.

Nora watched Jessica's reflection in her computer monitor. The woman settled into her desk, and froze, eyes on the outbox. Nora's stomach dropped as she realized she'd left it askew. Slowly, Jessica returned it to its original position with a suspicious glance toward Nora before she got back to work. Nora pretended to stay engrossed in her work, silently cursing herself for being so sloppy in her haste.

She waited a while, making perfectly sure that Jessica wasn't watching her, before headed off to lunch herself after a sending a couple texts. As she asked, Peter met her in front of the elevator. "Hey," he greeted idly.

"How are you doing today?"

"Good."

They stood silently for a moment as to not arouse the suspicion of the pair of employees standing behind them having a chat as they waited for an elevator. Nora leaned in, voice low. "Jessica is putting together intel on Wesley Kent," she explained. "She's digging into his travel arrangements."

Peter huffed. "What does she want with the CEO?"

"He has to got be another target."

"Jones got our warrant," he said, keeping his eyes fixed away from her. "He's gonna get a hold of me as soon as he gets to White Plains. We find anything incriminating, I'm bringing her down."

She nodded, peering over her shoulder, keeping an eye out. An elevator door slid open with a ding and she moved to step in. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"Oh, business lunch," she lied. Mozzie waited a few blocks away, leaning casually against the trunk of a tree with a pair of sunglasses in place of his normal one. "Hey," she said, coming to a stop in front of him. "Alright, let's make this quick. I need to get back to the office."

They started walking down the street. "First week, and you're already a corporate shill?" he muttered. "My condolences on your recently departed integrity."

She rolled her eyes. "How'd it go with Diana?" she snapped.

"I saw some sheet music in her briefcase."

Not altogether suspicious, she supposed. "Maybe she's learning the violin."

"It was Mozart's Piano Sonata No. 2 in F from 1775," he explained.

Nora stopped in her tracks. "The year the music box was made."

"Need I go on?"

"I'm sure you will."

"I will," he agreed. "There's no historical record of what song it's playing. The only way she would know it's Mozart is if she's heard it."

Nora licked her lips, pushing away the uneasiness bubbling in her stomach. "Peter trust's Diana, and I trust him."

Mozzie shrugged, pulling off the sunglasses. "Could be something, could be nothing." He cleaned the lenses idly on his shirt. "I just thought you should know." He held them up, inspecting the lenses… or rather, the image over his shoulder reflected in them. "Also, you got a tail."

Nora glanced over her shoulder at Jessica, and the woman turned away quickly, heading in the opposite direction. "Yeah, I noticed a couple blocks back. Listen, I'll worry about my shadow. In the meantime, stay close to Diana."

"Oh, why don't I just go have coffee with Hughes while I'm at it?" he huffed.

She gave him a pointed look. "You're a hero, Moz," she said dryly before heading after Jessica. It was about time Nora had a little heart-to-heart with her.


	49. Latin Lesson

Chapter Forty-Nine

Latin Lesson

Jessica was walking briskly through the crowd, and Nora followed after her, making no attempt to hide her intention. Without looking over her shoulder, Jessica turned down an alley and leaned against the wall of one of the buildings, back to Nora. Nora walked casually toward her, keeping her posture open and hopefully non-threatening. "Jessica."

The woman responded by pressing a gun into Nora's ribs, and ice flooded through her veins, mouth going very dry as she held her hands up in front of her. "Who do you work for?" Jessica demanded, voice trembling. "Do you work with Kent?"

Nora stared at the gun, resisting the urge to flee, knowing that would just end badly for her. "No, no," she said quickly, "I'm with the FBI." Jessica's brow furrowed, her grip on the gun loosening just a hair. "I was sent in to find out if you murdered Joseph Hayes."

"I didn't murder Joseph," she protested.

"Then who did?"

She held Nora's eyes evenly for a moment before finally lowering the gun. "That's what I want to find out."

Nora nodded slowly, hands shaking slightly as the adrenaline ran its course. No matter how many times she's had a gun pointed at her, it never got any easier, she decided. "Okay, we can help you, but you have to come in and tell us what you know."

Jessica considered it for a moment. "Okay," she decided, nodding slowly and stowing the gun back in her handbag.

Nora sent Peter a text detailing their new development, and the three of them met at the Bureau after work, setting up in the conference room to talk. "Your handgun was registered to Joseph Hayes," Peter noted. "You wanna explain that?"

She shrugged. "Joseph and I were close."

"You were seeing each other?" he guessed.

"Yes, but we couldn't tell anyone."

Peter changed gears. "What do you know about the project he was working on?"

"The microprocessor? He said he was close to a functioning prototype."

Peter's brow furrowed. "Kent claimed the prototype was already working."

"He lied."

Nora shot a glance at Peter, trying to fill in the gaps in the story in her mind. There was something they were missing, and Peter seemed to be thinking the same thing. "Let's focus on you for a second," he decided. "Why did you break into Hayes' email account?" Jessica swallowed, casting her glance down. "Rummage through his desktop?"

"The day before he was murdered, Joseph was acting different. He said someone was following him. He said not to tell anyone anything about what I knew, then he gave me the gun."

"And you started playing detective?" he asked pointedly, and Nora couldn't help but get the feeling Peter was making a subtle comment about her as much as Jessica.

Jessica fixed him with a hard look. "Kent murdered someone I care about very much, and I would do anything to make sure he pays." Nora stared at her lap, but saw Peter glance her direction out of the corner of her eye, and she pointedly refused to look at him. She and Jessica had a lot in common. "Look," she continued, oblivious to the silent conversation they were unintentionally holding across from her, "he's been taking trips, okay? By himself, under the guise of business. Eastern Europe, China… no one knows why."

"You were trying to find out?"

"I was trying to get into Kent's office," she admitted. "I've been seeing garbage bins coming out of there. He's been destroying documents, shredding them, and then putting them in burn bags."

Nora leaned forward, studying Jessica intently. "What would it take to get in there?" she asked, speaking up for the first time. If she could manage that, she might be able to find something they could use.

Jessica told them all she knew about Kent's office and they sent her on her way while they tried to come up with a plan. "Alright, let's start with the good news," Peter decided once they reconvened in Peter's office with their ideas. "Tech lab has a remote scanner that they can attach to the head of Kent's shredder.

She grinned, nodding appreciatively. "Makes a copy before it shreds anything, nice." Peter smiled, proud of himself, before taking a sip out of his ugly FBI mug. His nose wrinkled in distaste, and he pushed the cup away. "Something wrong with your coffee?"

"No, it's fine," he said quickly.

She laughed under her breath. "You've been spoiled.

"It's fine," he huffed. "Alright, the bad news is getting the scanner in place." He pointed to the blueprints of the building that were spread out on the table in front of them. "Kent's office is tough. Not even building security has clearance. The only people allowed inside are Kent and his assistant. Which is also the good news because at lunch time, no one will be on the entire floor."

He pulled over some pictures before continuing. "These are the key cards that give them access to the top floor of the building." She scooped one up to study it. "We can't duplicate them. Kent also has a voice-activated security system that unlocks the door to his office." That certainly made things difficult. "It opens and responds to his voice only."

It was tough, but there were ways to work around such roadblocks. "Well, do we know what the password is?"

He passed over a file. "Thanks to your friend Jessica, we do." He lifted his coffee once more, ready to take a drink, but thought better of it.

"'Faber est suae quisque fortunae,'" she read.

"Every man is the artisan of his own fortune," they translated in tandem.

"Now, I have Jones looking through on-air interviews with Kent," Peter explained, "seeing if he can string together some audio clip."

Nora rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well I doubt he speaks a dead language when he does press." She thought for a moment. "Can we get him to say it into a recorder?"

Peter's face lit up. "Oh, I've got an idea." He pulled something out of his desk and plopped it down in front of her.

It was the card he'd received with his fancy dinner. "Your dinner with Kent," she mused. "Alright, I like it."

* * *

Peter followed the waitress to Kent's table. There was a lot riding on the dinner, and Peter did his best not to get into his own head. Nora had talked his ear off about subtle mental manipulations that she thought would help him lead the conversation to getting that specific phrase to pop up, despite his protests that he knew what he was doing, and a mishmash of her advice swirled around his mind.

As they drew near, he pressed the button on the recording pen and stowed it in his jacket pocket. Kent stood when he spotted Peter. "Mr. Kent, good to see you."

They shook hands. "I told you to call me Wesley," Kent reminded him.

"Yes, you did." They took their seats.

"Drink?" Kent offered, gesturing broadly. Peter hissed out a sigh; drinking during undercover jobs was sort of a gray area, but Peter preferred to be on top of his game at all times. "Oh, Peter, I insist you treat yourself. You're not on the job now, are you?"

He really had no genuine reason to refuse. "Scotch and soda," he told the waiter.

"There we go," Kent laughed.

"I appreciate the invite."

"Well, it's the least I could do," Kent dismissed. "Believe me, I wish I could do more."

"Oh, I'm fine, really."

Kent stared at him intently for a moment. "How would you like to come work for me?" Peter froze. "A member of my finance committee is stepping down in a couple of months. It's a very lucrative position."

Peter fumbled for something to say in response. "I'm in the middle of auditing your company," he reminded Kent, "and you're offering me work?"

"Well, I've seen your credentials. Peter Lassen looks damn good on paper, but he'd look even better in my offices."

Peter chuckled. It wasn't at all what he'd been expecting, and it threw him off a little. "I've already got a job."

"No… no, working for Novice is more than a job," he said, very serious. "It's an achievement. It's a new beginning."

Peter nodded slowly, regaining himself. "Hence the name of your corporation," he mused, trying to steer the conversation toward Latin.

Kent sat back in his chair, impressed. "You know your Latin."

"I understand the etymology of novice," he allowed. "It's synonymous with the newly arrived, unique and original." Kent nodded. "I also know a few other words. Da mihi facta dabo tibi ius."

"'Give me the facts and I will give you the law,'" Kent translated. Peter nodded. Kent leaned in, eyes serious once more. "You want the facts?"

"I want incentive, details."

"Okay." Kent dropped his voice down low. "What I'm working on right now is gonna set up the company and everyone in if for life."

"Look, I'm a self-made guy..."

"So am I. And I believe that every man makes his own fortune with a good decision." _There is is…_

Peter grinned. "The politician, Caecus, he had a saying for that, didn't he?"

"Faber est suae quisque fortunae."

Easy as pie. "Every man is an artisan to his own fortune."

"Amen," Kent mused, taking a sip of his drink.

Peter lifted his scotch and soda, pleased with himself, and drank to his own good fortune.

* * *

"He offered you a job?" Nora marveled when Peter finished recapping his dinner as they walked to work the next morning.

He ignored her. "I got what we needed," he said pointedly, handing her the recording pen.

She stowed it in her purse. "Yeah, but Peter, think about all the tiny cups you could own."

"Kent's meeting his R&D team today at one. Think you can snatch one of those key cards?"

"Yeah, won't be a problem," she assured him easily.

"How's Jessica holding up?"

She shrugged lightly. "She put her game face on.

"Time for you to do the same."

They broke off and made their way into the Novice office separate from each other, lest they rouse suspicion. Nora lingered by the elevators, waiting for Kent and Ellen. Sure enough, they came through the hallway, deep in a conversation about work. Nora had already noted that Ellen kept her key card clipped on her waist band. Luck was on her side as it was clipped on the side opposite of Kent, making it entirely too easy for Nora to swiftly lift as she walked by.

With no one any the wiser, she tucked the card in her blazer and pressed the elevator call button. The doors slid open a moment later, and she stepped in. No one followed, and she slid the card. The card reader chirped, and she was able to select floor forty-four.

As expected, the top floor was deserted as she made her way through with purpose, not even pausing while she flicked Ellen's card through the open door of her office. Better she found it carelessly dropped on the floor than not at all.

Nora played the recording of Kent's password at the door to his office where an expensive terminal stood. There were no buttons or seemingly other ways to get inside the office, which was what she'd expected to see. The recording worked, unlocking the door for her.

It took only a moment to spot the shredder, a large, hulking model against the wall. She fed a paper through to see where the scanner should go, and placed it quickly. Her fingers itched to toss the office, but that wasn't part of the plan, and it was an unnecessary risk. Instead, with her job completed, she made her way out the way she'd come.

Later, after work, she met up with Jessica at the Bureau once more and told her what had happened. The women leaned against the desks in the bullpen, few agents milling around them. "How'd you even get in there?" Jessica wondered, bemused. To some, Kent's security measures must have made the office seem like an impregnable fortress. But with Nora's skill and the FBI's resources, they were more of a slight inconvenience.

Pleased with herself, Nora held up the recording pen and played it for Jessica. "There are some pretty fun toys around her," she mused, dropping the pen into her desk drawer and sliding it shut.

"So, have they found anything yet?"

"Well, agents are going through the latest scans now." She smiled reassuringly. "We're gonna find something."

Jessica sighed. "You know, even if you arrest him, it won't change what happened."

A knot formed in Nora's stomach. "I understand."

"I don't think you do." _If you only knew…_ But, it wasn't the time to compare tragedies. Instead, Nora listened patiently. "Do you know how Joseph died? How he was poisoned?" Jessica paused, swallowing hard. "This chemical, it drops the heart rate, spikes the blood pressure. You can't see. And a few minutes later, you can't feel. You're dead."

It was truly awful. "You can't think about that," Nora told her softly, speaking from experience.

"It's all I can think about. If someone took away the person you loved, wouldn't you want them to know how it feels?"

Nora couldn't answer. She was acutely, painfully aware exactly what Jessica was going thought, how she felt; Nora felt the exact same way. Yet, she couldn't help herself from parroting the advice and well-intentioned bullshit everyone around her had spouted off following Kyle's death.

Peter caught her eye from the top of the stairs and gestured her up. "I'll be right back," she said, voice thick, grateful that she was spared from answering. She rubbed Jessica's shoulder gently and made her way upstairs.

Peter handed her a file as she stepped into the conference room. "We just pulled this from the shredder in Kent's office," he epxlained.

She flipped it open. "This is Hayes' prototype," she realized.

"Yeah. And it never worked. Kent tried to make it look like espionage and he had the damn thing the whole time." Nora shook her head slowly. "This is the cover-up. Nora, I think I know why Hayes was killed."


	50. Daily Vice

Chapter Fifty

Daily Vice

They poured over more files from Kent's shredder, hoping to get more information, before Peter pulled Nora into his office to go over what they'd learned. "Found another document in the shredder," he explained, handing over a file. She flipped through it. "It's addressed to an unnamed foreign intelligence agency to arrange a meeting in the next month and a half."

"The trips he's been taking," she noted. "Kent knew he wouldn't win the defense contract from our country in time."

"So he decided to sell his device to another government," he concluded.

"It's treason for profit."

"Hayes didn't want any part of that. _That's_ why Kent killed him."

She nodded, all of the pieces finally falling in place. "Corporate espionage is the perfect cover." She dropped the file on the desk. "He made it look like a competitor stole the working product."

"Company saves face. If a foreign government turns up with it later-"

"Kent's in the clear, Hayes stays quiet," she concluded. "How do we prove it when Kent hasn't committed treason yet?"

"He has committed murder," he reminded her, standing up to pace slowly. "The CEO is concerned about anyone finding out what he's really up to. "Maybe Hayes talked to someone before he died." She followed his gaze down to the bullpen, where Jessica sat with Jones.

"You wanna use Jessica as bait?" The idea didn't sit well in her stomach.

"I'm meeting Kent in the afternoon. Maybe I can hint to him that she knows something."

She met his eyes evenly. "He'll come after her."

"And when he does, we take him down." She cast another glance down to the bullpen. "Think she's up to it?"

"She's certainly driven," she conceded, rising out of her chair to study the woman.

"Yeah, that's what worries me," Peter admitted. "I'm not sure if she wants revenge or justice."

She got the sinking suspicion he wasn't strictly talking about Jessica anymore. "I can't blame her either way."

"You have empathy for that woman." It wasn't a question, it was an observation.

She rounded on him, eyes taking a hard edge. "What if I do?"

He met her gaze evenly, and Nora got the impression he'd been wanting to voice this thought for a while. "There's a right way to things and a wrong way. Revenge is the wrong way." His voice was even and patient, but firm. "It's short-sighted and it's dangerous."

She raised an eyebrow. "What's justice, then?"

"It's restoring order, not furthering chaos." She swallowed hard. "You kept that recording data from me. I hope you don't have any more secrets."

"Likewise," she shot back, her rash and impulsive side taking over. His brow furrowed. She realized it would be a good time to stop talking, but she couldn't help herself, letting her frustration boil close to the surface. "You talk to Diana lately?"

"Not today."

"You trust her?"

"As much as you trust your friend." His eyes never wavered, his answers held no hesitation. "Is there a problem?"

She licked her lips, recomposing herself. "What happens if we do find Fowler? What comes next?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Together." Her shoulders slumped, not satisfied with his answers but aware it was the best she was going to get. "Now, let's prep the team for what we have today." He headed through the door, and after a moment's hesitation, she followed.

* * *

Everything was in place. Nora seemed to get her head back in the game after their heated conversation, and Peter tried to follow suit. It was a bad time to get caught up worrying about Nora and her precarious mental state. Trusting her to do her part, Peter focused on his own, heading into Kent's office for their meeting. Late afternoon light flooded through the window, painting everything tones of sepia.

"An advance copy of my report," he announced, dropping a file down on the desk. "Your company has nothing to worry about." Kent leafed through, silent for a moment.

"Well," he said evenly, flipping the file closed, "this is cause for celebration." He stood and made his way over to a small bar in the corner, a bottle of Armagnac and several glasses already out and ready to go.

Peter chuckled, following after him. "There is one other thing about one of your staff members," he noted. "Jessica Breslin was involved with one of your former employees in Research and Development. Joseph Hayes."

Kent's expression was tight as he poured the drinks. "How do you know this?"

"Cross-referenced expense reports between your workers to see if any of them were in league to bilk funds," he lied. "Apparently, the two of them shared a hotel room a few weeks in a row. When I confronted Miss Breslin about it, she asked me not to say anything. I thought you might wanna deal with her appropriately."

"Well, I will take care of Miss Breslin," he said stiffly, but his face betrayed nothing. "Now, more importantly, have you thought any more about my offer?"

Peter sighed, silent for a moment. "I hate to sound like a broken record, but I've already got a job."

"Ah, okay," Kent relented. "Well, if you change your mind..."

"I appreciate that, Wesley."

Kent slid a glass of Armagnac over. "You on the job?"

"It _is_ after six," Peter allowed. "I won't tell anyone." They clinked their glasses together and took a swig.

* * *

Nora waited impatiently on the street. Peter would be down any time, and the car would be there to take Jessica to the safe house. As if on cue, Jessica came up behind Nora. "Hey," Nora greeted. "Doing okay?" The woman nodded, a sad smile on her lips. "An agent will be here any second. She's gonna need your phone and all forms of ID for the protection detail." Jessica started rummaging through her purse. "Pretty calm for somebody who's about to go into hiding."

Jessica bit out a humorless laugh. "I thought I was supposed to be relieved."

Nora's phone started ringing and she dug it out to answer. "Hello?"

"Are you sitting down?" Mozzie asked in way of greeting.

She turned away from Jessica, brow furrowed. "What is it, Moz?"

"Sitting or standing?" he insisted.

"I'm standing."

"Then you better hold onto something. I did some additional checking." He hesitated for a second. "Peter knows Diana has the box."

Her stomach twisted painfully. "What?" she breathed.

"I… I didn't want to say anything until I was sure, but the trail for the box just goes cold with him. Nora, there can't be any other explanation." She didn't answer, dumbfounded. "Nora?"

She turned around, trying to process what Mozzie had told her. Jessica had returned to digging through her purse, and something caught her eye. A pen… _the _pen, the secret recording pen with Kent's voice on it. "I'll call you back," she muttered, ice creeping through her for another reason. She hung up without another word.

Before Jessica could react, Nora snatched the pen and clicked the button. Kent's voice played out like a death knell. "Why do you have this?" she demanded.

"Uh… I… I found it on your desk and-"

"You were in Kent's office," Nora spat. "What did you do, Jessica?"

Jessica sighed, eyes growing hard. "I want him to know how it feels to die the way that Joseph died."

"Poisoned him? How?"

She smiled a small, vindictive smile. "His daily vice, the Armagnac."

Nora's heart flip-flopped. "Peter's in there with him." She didn't give Jessica a chance to respond before rushing back toward Novice. She raced through the lobby, drawing the attention of the guard at the desk. "I need to get to the top floor," she demanded, breathless from her run.

"Nobody gets to the top floor," he protested.

"This is an emergency," she huffed.

"What's the emergency?"

There wasn't time for that; the poison was fast. "_Please_!"

"I've got to check with Mr. Kent-"

"Yes, good, yes, check with Kent." The second he had his back turned, she sprinted toward the security checkpoint and hopped the gate. The man's voice rang out after her, but she paid him no mind. "Call 911," she called back to him, sliding to a stop in front of the elevator.

Mercifully, an elevator opened immediately before her. "Get back here," the man called as she jabbed the door shut button. "I will call the police!"

"Good, call the paramedics," she yelled as the doors slid shut. The man banged his hands against the metal. She stared at the control panel, cursing her forethought to toss Ellen's key card.

"You need to exit the elevator now, ma'am," the guard called.

"Will you send me up to Kent's floor?"

"Hell no."

"Then I can't." She pulled a multi-purpose tool that she kept tucked in her purse out and started unscrewing the panel as quickly as her fingers would allow. She could hear the guard talking into his walkie talkie, but channeled his voice out, falling into a state of focus on the task at hand, willing her heart beat to slow so she could concentrate.

The panel fell open and she got to work fiddling with the wires. How hard could it be to hot wire an elevator? After a little trial and error, the card reader beeped, and access was granted to Kent's floor. She pressed the button and up it went.

It felt like it was moving entirely too slow. She paced impatiently in front of the door, worry and fear gnawing in her stomach. She tried to push them away, but the clock was ticking; Peter didn't have long.

Finally, the door slid open and she ran faster than she remembered running ever before. The door to Kent's office was open. "Peter!" she called. He was sprawled on the floor, drenched in sweat, chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. She slid to a stop in front of him, sparing only a passing glance at Kent, unconscious on the sofa.

Peter didn't react when she grabbed him under the arms and started scrambling her feet against the tile as she started dragging him back toward the elevator. Nora wasn't the strongest woman, and Peter wasn't a particularly small man. The trek back to the elevator was laboriously slow, and she could practically hear the seconds ticking away in her head. She cursed and sputtered under his weight, fighting back tears of worry and frustration.

It felt like forever before she was able to prop him against the wall. "It's gonna be okay," she cooed, slamming her hand against the elevator call button. "Stay with me, alright. Hang in there."

He looked up at her with glassy eyes. "Kent," he managed.

"No, no, Peter, we don't have time. Come on."

"You can't leave him," he protested. His voice was weak, words slurred, but there was resolve in them.

Tears stung in her eyes. "You are dying, Peter!"

"Nora." He grabbed her shoulder with a languid hand, fighting with every bit of strength he had left. She met his eyes, choking back a sob. "We don't leave anybody behind."

_ Damn it, Peter, why do you always have to be so noble_? She gulped down as much air as she could, steeling herself.

She bolted back to the office for Kent.

It seemed to take even longer the second time, one of her heels snapping under the strain as she dragged Kent's listless, unconscious body toward the elevator. Her strength was waning as they made the slow descent toward the lobby, Peter's head cradled in her lap. She allowed herself to cry, hot tears streaking down her cheeks.

By some miracle, the security guard had listened to her pleas that an ambulance be called. Officers and paramedics were waiting outside the elevator when the door slid open. They wasted no time springing to action, getting both men onto gurneys and wheeling them out. She followed behind helplessly.

"Heart stopped," one of the paramedics said. "I need the epinephrine." Another pulled a large syringe out of their bag and handed it over. They jammed the needle into Peter's chest and pressed down the plunger.

Nora couldn't look away, wondering if she was too late, if she was going to watch Peter die in front of her. Because of Kent.

* * *

Both men survived. The paramedics wheeled them out to the street. Diana was waiting and cuffed Kent to the rail of the gurney as he was coming back to consciousness. "Wha… What are you doing?"

"You confessed to a federal agent," Peter said as he was rolled up next to Kent. Diana handed him his badge, and he flashed it open. Despite his ordeal, he managed a small smile. "You're under arrest for the murder of Joseph Hayes."

Kent was dumbfounded. "You can't be serious."

"'You give me the facts, I'll give you the law.'" Peter slumped back, satisfied. Diana gestured for them to take Kent away. "Thanks, Di." She squeezed his hand.

Nora stopped by his side, her gait uneven on her broken heel. "I'm not the only one who makes dumb decisions," she accused as she grabbed his wrist, trying her best to tease, but her voice trembled. Her face was red and splotchy, eyes puffy from crying.

"Saving Kent?" he guessed.

"You're taking this innocent until proven guilty thing a little too far."

"If he lives or dies, it's not my call," he said flatly. He could see how the whole thing had torn at her, frayed her nerves, but he wouldn't have slept soundly knowing another man died so that Peter would live. And, though she may not have realized it herself, he knew willingly letting a man die would have eaten her up inside when everything was all said and done.

"Whose is it?" she asked.

"You do what's right," he said, like it was that simple. "Let the pieces fall where they fall." Her hand fell away from his, and the paramedics wheeled him away.

* * *

"'Do what's right,'" she mused as they loaded Peter into the ambulance. That was easier said than done.

Pushing it out of mind, she turned toward Diana. "She said she didn't mean to hurt Peter," Diana explained. Jessica was being led away in handcuffs by an agent. "She had no idea he would be having a drink with Kent."

"What happens to her now?" Nora wondered.

Diana crossed her arms. "Gotta charge her with attempted murder," she said flatly. "She can't just walk away from this." With that, Diana left Nora to her thoughts. And a lot of thoughts she was left with.

Sighing, Nora headed home.

Peter spent a couple nights in the hospital as he recovered his strength. Nora had visited with Elizabeth. To her credit, El was holding up like a trooper. She'd hugged and thanked Nora profusely. All Nora could think about was how easily the situation could have been different. If she'd been even a moment later getting them into the elevator, Elizabeth might have been burying her husband. Each time the thought reared its head, Nora had to swallow down the bile that rose in her throat.

A few more days recuperating at home, and Peter was cleared to return to work. Nora visited him in his office first thing that morning. "Looking good," she noted brightly, standing in the doorway.

"Feeling better," he assured her, smiling broadly. "I got a clean bill of health this morning." He moved to take a sip of his coffee, complete with its ugly FBI mug.

"You know, there's a coffee shop a couple blocks away. I hear they make a pretty nice espresso."

"This tastes just fine to me," he insisted.

"Oh, come on," she said, rolling her eyes. "You can't tell me you don't miss it." She stepped into the office, idling slowly as she played with her hair. "The imported beans, the giant office and swanky suite."

He leaned back in his chair, considering it for a second with his finger laced together. "Alright," he decided, "I'm gonna humor you for a second. What if I went corporate right after college? Best-case scenario, I became a millionaire."

She laughed. "Sounds like a pretty good scenario."

"Mm. One with a flip-side. What if I never joined the FBI?" he mused.

"Would have made my life easier," she joked.

"Yeah, mine too. But, what if, twelve years ago, I was never assigned to an art gallery scam downtown? What if…" He paused, eyes far away. "I never met this assistant manager? No, there are more important things in life than a nice view." She was silent, not meeting his gaze. "Like having people in your life you care about. I don't want to imagine the man I would be without those people. I like the man I am."

With a sigh, she sat down across from him. "'Do what's right,'" she muttered.

"Yeah."

She finally met his eyes. She'd had a lot of time to think, and anger didn't bubble inside her this time. "You lied to me about the music box," she said flatly. He drew in a deep breath. "I know you still have it."

"How did you find-"

"Mozzie found the sheet music," she explained, cutting him off. "It wasn't hard from there. You want to talk about it?"

He held her gaze for a moment, scrutinizing her. She kept her face smooth, passive, unreadable. "If you're ready to listen," he decided.

"I wanna see it." He nodded slowly.

That evening, after darkness had spread through the city, she found herself face-to-face with the box once more as it sat on her kitchen table between Peter and herself. "I didn't tell you everything for your own protection," Peter said evenly. "I don't know what you're gonna do, and neither do you."

She glanced up at him. "I know my options," she snapped.

He sighed deeply. "Revenge or justice, right?" She swallowed, eyes falling on the box once more. "Nora, as long as I'm involved, it's gonna be the latter."

"What if justice isn't good enough?" she asked, voice small.

"It has to be. It will be."

She wasn't so sure, but voicing that opinion was a bad idea. Instead, she changed the subject. "What'd you find?"

Clearly, he saw what she was doing, but went along with it anyway. "There's a piece of the box that's still missing, right here," he noted, pointing out a small hole in the lid. "At first, I thought it was one of the cherubs that had broken off. But if you look more closely, it hasn't broken off. It's a keyhole. The missing piece is a key."

Without a word, Nora pulled her purse off the back of the chair and dug through it, pulling out the missing cherub that Alex had given to her. _'I'm giving up my obsession_,_'_ she'd said.

Peter stared at it blankly for a moment. "Which you have."

With a sigh, and a small, sad smile, Nora put the key into the keyhole. "No more secrets, Peter."

He nodded. "No more secrets." She twisted the key, and all of the cherubs spun. Together, they lifted the lid.


	51. Amber and Silver

Chapter Fifty-One

Amber and Silver

A second comb. That was what was hidden in the music box. Pop it in place, and it plays a different piece of music. Somehow, there was significance in it, but hell if Nora could figure it out. She puzzled over it for days, turning it over and over in her mind.

Secret codes, however, happened to be a specialty of Mozzie's. Naturally, Peter insisted he come along, as they had promised that whatever happened going forward, they would deal with it together. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" he asked as they walked in a brisk pace toward June's. Peter carried a duffle bag, the music box tucked inside.

"You have a better one?" she shot back.

"No," he admitted after a pause. "Do you think Mozzie can do this?"

"Oh, he's a savant when it comes to things like this."

"Rain Man, I get it."

She smirked. "You should see him do a Rubik's Cube."

"Probably can do it with his feet, right?" he scoffed.

"Thirty seconds, socks on or off." Peter made a face, and she couldn't really blame him. It was a spectacular though somewhat uncomfortable process to witness, to be sure.

"This is the single greatest day of his life."

"Yup. All the conspiracy theories have come true."

Mozzie was already waiting for them in her apartment with an array of Russian surplus gadgets spread out over the table, practically radiating excited energy like a puppy who knows you have a ball hidden behind your back. Peter placed the box gingerly in front of him. "We've been so close," he mused, staring at it intently, "and now we finally meet."

"I told you," Peter teased Nora.

"I agreed with you," she reminded him.

"Shush!" Mozzie snapped.

Peter glared down at him. "No, there's no shushing. No shushing for you." Mozzie rolled his eyes. "Are you ready to record this?"

"Yes, but first, walk me through it."

Peter pulled up the chair next to him. "Alright, pay attention. This is where it gets good." Peter leaned in and pointed to the small keyhole on the lid. "We noticed this broken piece wasn't broken."

"It's a keyhole," Mozzie noted, perceptive as always.

"Yup," Nora confirmed, sinking into the chair on his other side. She slid the cherub into place. "This is the key." Mozzie watched in awe as she turned it and opened the lid, revealing the secret compartment.

"There's a _second_ comb?" he mused, pulling it out delicately.

"Yup."

"We snap it into place..." He did so and started fiddling with his recording device. When it was turned on and ready to go, Nora pressed the button and the music box started playing. They listened as it completed a loop of the music before she switched it off again.

"Any idea what kind of code it is?" Peter asked.

Mozzie thought for a moment, eyes a million miles away. "Sounds could correspond to numbers, wavelengths."

Nora nodded slowly. "Pala's discovery of hidden music in The Last Supper," she mused.

"RuneScape's encoded flute solo." She furrowed her brow, not entirely sure what that meant.

"Don't forget Close Encounters," Peter muttered.

Mozzie nodded. "Geographical coordinates encoded-"

"In five tones," Nora finished with him.

He turned back to Peter, impressed. "Very good, Suit."

Peter apparently didn't realize he'd said something helpful, and stared at Mozzie, bewildered. "Clearly, we're in very good hands."

Mozzie moved to turn off the recording device and Peter closed the box. "What are you doing?" Mozzie demanded, looking like someone was stealing his most prized possession right from under his nose.

"Getting this out of harm's way," Peter explained.

Nora grabbed the key. "And I am keeping this."

"That's a good idea," Peter agreed. It was best not to keep all their eggs in one basket.

Mozzie watched helpless as Peter stood and returned the box to the duffle bag. "We defang the box, we can use it lure out Fowler," she added, rising to her feet.

"No way," Peter protested, staring down at her with a hard look. "Tomorrow, you and me, it's back to business as usual."

Nora didn't agree, but she thought better of voicing that thought. The last thing she wanted was for Peter to shut her out when they were finally coming up on the finish line. She nodded somberly.

"Oh, business as usual," Mozzie huffed, pouting. "Us without the box."

Peter left them, and they were silent for a while, both churning over their thoughts. "Why don't we take a walk," he suggested.

They ambled through the city streets, reveling in the heat of a beautiful summer day. "How old is this code?" she wondered

"Hard to say," he admitted. "The last credible report has the box disappearing from Konigsburg Castle in '45. Now, assuming no one has reunited the cherub and the box since then..."

Nora paused, that statement scratching something in her mind. "Wait, wait. The box and the key were together the day we stole it."

Mozzie blinked. "Alex."

She nodded slowly. "She had them both before she brought the box back to me."

They started walking again, and Nora wondered how she didn't realize it the moment she'd put the key in for the first time. "Well, she obviously inserted the key and found the comb," Mozzie muttered.

"So why'd she give it back?"

He shrugged. "Couldn't solve it herself?"

That was one theory, but Alex had no guarantee that Nora would be able or willing to share if she'd managed to figure it out. Besides, Nora wouldn't have been able to find the comb without the key, which Alex finally deigned to hand over months after the box had disappeared again. "Or she took something out of it. Or she knows something we don't."

"She could be a step ahead of us."

"Yeah."

"We really should talk to her. It's really too bad she disappeared to Italy."

"Maybe," she dodged. She'd almost forgotten Mozzie didn't know…

"You know where Alex is, don't you?" he accused, not missing a beat.

She smirked. "I have an idea."

* * *

Peter handed the duffle bag over to Diana once the door to her apartment was locked behind them. "How did Mozzie do?" she wondered, setting the bag on the kitchen table.

Peter took a seat. "Better than I expected," he allowed. "I'm convinced he's the cherub for the job."

Diana chuckled. "What about Nora? How's she doing with all this?"

Peter considered that for a moment. "I don't know if she's interested in the music box. I think she just wants to find Fowler. See what he knows about Kyle's death."

She nodded slowly. "Well, speaking of Fowler, we got a blip on the radar." She pulled a file off the coffee table and handed it over. "An old bank account. Someone checked the balance."

"Did you trace it?"

"No. It was done remotely."

He looked over the file. "Two hundred bucks in the account?"

"Yeah, he emptied his accounts when he went underground, but he didn't get much."

Peter furrowed his brow. "Maybe he's desperate for cash."

She met his eyes evenly. "What are you thinking?"

"Do you know about his wife's death?"

"She was killed during a robbery a few years ago," she recounted.

Peter nodded. "When he was working Violent Crimes for the Bureau. Suspicious circumstances surrounded the murder. That kept the insurance company from finalizing their claim."

Her eyes lit up as she realized what he was getting at. "We could make it look like the claim finally went through."

"Put a stack of cash in the account. If he bites, we can track the withdrawal. In the meantime, make sure that stays safe," he said, gesturing toward the bag. She nodded, and Peter left her to get to it.

* * *

It took some doing, but Nora finally got in contact with an old friend who she thought could help. She and Mozzie met him in a parking lot overlooking the river, empty save for one car, a classic convertible. A man in a light gray suit leaned against it, arms crossed.

"What bushes did you rattle to uncover Alex's trail?" Mozzie wondered as they crossed the lot toward the man.

"That silver collection she fenced a few years ago," she admitted.

"The Spanish pieces from the Almiranta shipwreck?"

She nodded with a small smile. "They're popping up again, one at a time." They came to a stop in front of the man, who eyed they with narrowed eyes, though there was a playful smirk on his lips. "Hale," she greeted. Hale was an older man, hair and beard long since gone gray.

"I don't like loitering," he said sternly. They stared at each other for a long moment before breaking into broad smiles. "Nora!" He stepped forward to give her a quick hug, which she returned with enthusiasm.

She smiled up at him. "I really appreciate this," she told hem earnestly, squeezing one of his hands.

Hale turned to Mozzie. "So, what happened to the goatee?" he wondered, squeezing Mozzie's chin. "You know I liked it."

Mozzie smiled tightly, the way he did whenever Nora teased him with reminders of that period of his life. "We all grow up," he dismissed.

"All children," Hale allowed before shooting a pointed look at Nora. "Except one."

She rolled her eyes playfully. "Did you bring it?" she asked, getting to business.

He led them around the car and popped the trunk. From inside he pulled out a large chalice, handling it gently as if it might crumble in his hands. She took it with light fingers, studying it intently for a moment. "It's from the Almiranta," she confirmed, handing it back.

"Who's the fence?" Mozzie asked.

"Anonymous."

Go figure. "The thief?" Nora tried.

Hale tucked the chalice back into the trunk and slammed it shut. "It's the third piece of shipwreck silver I've had come through this month," he explained.

"Someone's been busy," Mozzie mused.

"Too busy," Hale agreed, face now serious. "I like that someone. So you should warn her the NYPD's on the trail. If they make the Almiranta connection..."

It would be bad news. "Understood," she assured him. Hale moved to shake her hand again, but Nora drew her hand away, eyeing him with suspicion. "What do I owe you for this?" As good as their working relationship was, Hale didn't work for free, and information was a particularly valuable resource in their line of work.

Hale waved her away, taking her hand. "Darling, we all go way back. Just remember me fondly when you pull the next job."

"Well, that might be a while," she admitted.

He shrugged. "Or it might not." With a smile, he bumped fists with Mozzie and they went their separate directions.

"He thinks it's Alex," Mozzie noted as they walked away. "She knows how valuable the stuff is. And she knows where it is."

Nora nodded. "She's stealing back her own stuff. When the NYPD realizes it's all from the same collection…"

"They'll set a trap," he concluded. While the NYPD wasn't usually the biggest threat, they did certainly have their moments. If one didn't take them seriously, a small miscalculation would spell potential disaster.

"Unless we get to her first."

Mozzie sighed. "That would take FBI resources we don't have access to."

She paused, coming to a stop as the gears in her mind turned. "I can get those."

"How?"

It was probably a stupid idea, but as good ones seemed to have been in short supply of late, it was better that than nothing. "I con the FBI," she decided.


	52. The Silver Burglar

Chapter Fifty-Two

The Silver Burglar

Conning the FBI. How hard could it be? She was a top-notch forger and intimately knew the Bureau's inner workings. She stopped in at the office to gather some materials and met Mozzie back at her apartment laden with a stack of FBI files.

"Peter said it's time to get back to business as usual," she said, flopping the pile of paperwork on the corner of the table, where Mozzie's Russian surplus recorder was still set up. "Following standard Peter protocol, that means he'll try to pull from the reserve of active case files. Which, I'm allowed to take home and peruse."

"Exhibits A, I presume?" he mused, gesturing toward the stack.

"Yes. They range from mortgage fraud to copyright infringement, back to mortgage fraud." So, _so_ much mortgage fraud.

"Sorry, I just dozed off."

"I know," she agreed dryly. "But, Peter always tries to find the diamond in the rough." An interesting case was his Kryptonite.

Mozzie's eyes sparkled. "So, you want to create a diamond for him to find?"

"Exactly. If we can forge a case file linking the silver thefts, he won't be able to resist it."

He nodded slowly. "And then he'll think he found the case himself. It's brilliant."

Nora turned as the creak of the door opening pulled caught her attention. "Hello, hello," June called. She walked in, a leash in hand as her tiny pug, Bugsy, scampered in after her.

"June," Nora greeted, stooping down to pet Bugsy.

"Sorry to interrupt your project, but I will be leaving town for a few days." Bugsy yapped excitedly, lapping at Nora's hands. "So, as per our agreement..."

"Oh, you want me to walk Bugsy."

"Please. He loves your company."

Nora smiled up at her. "You got it."

"Thank you." She led Bugsy away, and Nora rose to her feet.

Mozzie looked at her, incredulous. "So she has you dog whispering?"

"Small price to pay," she dismissed. "Besides, I love animals."

He shook his head, but let it go. "Where were we?" he asked, taking a seat and pulling the files over. She leaned behind him, looking over his shoulder.

"Hale told us when the silver pieces coming in, we know Alex's m.o., and I created this." She handed him the file off the top of the stack that she'd put together.

He glanced it over. "You named Alex the Silver Burglar?" he asked dryly.

She rolled her eyes. "Alright, I admit, it lacks a certain flair, but it makes the point." He thumbed through as she continued her explanation. "It includes the police reports for the stolen items. And I've added just enough FBI research to connect the dots."

He compared her fake file to the others in the stack she'd brought home. "Your file's a tad too nice to have been floating around the Bureau."

"So we age it," she said simply. "Just like a painting."

"Get in the mind of the file." She arched an eyebrow. "Live the life of the file. Hear the pulse of the file."

"Can we do this?" she snapped.

"Please."

She pulled the second file off the stack. "Step one: the case file is assembled by our clerk, Janice. She merges all the various reports."

"Oh, probably over lunch," Mozzie noted, grabbing a pickle left-over from the lunch he'd apparently stopped to grab while he waited for her to get back from the office.

"Mm-hmm." He smeared the pickle on one of the pages. "She logs the police reports and staples them together."

She passed him the stapler and he got to work. "Oh, looks like she forgot a page," he muttered, using the staple remover to pull out the first staple and tried again.

"Nice. Now, our probie usually brings her coffee. It's an excuse to flirt." He grabbed a cup of coffee and moved to set it on the cover. "Oh, he's left-handed." With a nod, he corrected himself, and left a nice, wet ring on their forgery. "Then it goes to Susan, who highlights the pertinents."

"Oh, she's the eau de parfum?"

"She is." Mozzie started highlight, and Nora gave a little spritz of the same perfume Susan used, a light, pleasant, and inexpensive brand. As Mozzie highlighted, he started humming to himself. The Batman theme, of all things. She stared at him dryly. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, this is the first burglary victim," he explained. "Susan sees the name and then starts humming."

She read over his shoulder. "Mr. Gordon."

"He was the county commissioner," he offered.

Nora blinked. "Commissioner Gordon."

"Batman!" he sang softly.

"No one will know what song you hummed when you did this."

He shrugged, undeterred. "Live the file. Next."

She let it go. "Then it gets approved by Hughes. Now, his signature is tricky. He has his assistant sign for him, so..." She snatched up a pen, flipped their file upside-down, and studied the signature on the file they were referencing. All said and done, it was a pretty good match.

"Ah, forging the forger," he mused. "Nicely done."

"It gets passed around the office a few times," she continued, bending it slightly against the edge of the table before passing it off to Mozzie. Inexplicably, he ran it over the top of his head before handing it back. "Nice work." She studied at their forgery. If she'd been handed the file in the office, she never would have suspected anything suspicious about it, and she was sure Peter wouldn't either. "Now I slip it in with the rest of the files."

* * *

Business as usual. That's what he'd told Nora, and that's what he planned to do. He made his way home for the evening with a box of files, hoping to find something good in the stack of active cases. "Oh, hey, honey," El greeted as he came through the door. She was setting the table for dinner.

"Hey, hon." He stopped to pet Satchmo. "Hey, buddy, how you doing?"

"He's in trouble," El told him.

"Uh-oh." Take-out boxes were spread out on the table, and it smelled wonderful. "Ooh, Chinese."

"Yeah," she huffed. "Satchmo got into the quiche I made."

He kissed her on top of the head, turning toward Satch. "Bad dog," he said, waggling his finger at him. Then, under his breath, added a relived, "thank you."

El sat down and started scooping food onto her plate, eyeing the box he'd sat in the empty chair across the table. "Oh, so the reserve box, huh? Looking for your next case?"

"Yeah, it's time for Nora and me to get back to basics." He hung his coat over the back of the chair and sat down next to El. "Wanna help?"

"No," she deadpanned, but broke out into a smile, pulling the first file off the stack. "Alright, what do we got? Antitrust lawsuit." She flipped the file open.

"Yeah, does that sound interesting?"

"No, actually, boring." He took the file and set it off to the side while she grabbed another. "Alright, let's see… Medicare scam." Peter sighed at the thought. "Well, you sighed, so pass on that one."

He pushed it away. "Ooh, look at this one," she mused. "Cat burglar. That's kinda sexy."

"Mm-hmm," he hummed through a mouthful of eggroll. Cat burglars were far more interesting than medicare scams, antitrust lawsuits, and mortgage fraud.

The scent of a light perfume wafted off the page as she flipped through it. "Someone smells good."

"That would be Susan." He wiped his fingers quickly. "Let me see that." He read over it, curiosity piqued. "Oh, yeah."

"Look good?"

He grinned. "This should do the trick." He sat the file off to the side and they enjoyed a quiet dinner together.

* * *

Peter had his nose buried in her forged file when he stepped off the elevator the next morning. She kept her face schooled as he came to a stop in front of her desk. "Oh, I know that look," she teased. "You got your eye on a new bad guy."

"I got our next case," he dismissed. "What do you know about stolen Spanish silver?"

She smirked up at him. "Do you even have to ask?"

"Oh, just once I wish I did." Without another word, he headed for the stairs, calling the team in as he went. Smug and pleased with herself, she followed after. Copies of her forgery were passed out and Nora and the agents leafed through them.

"A silver thief," she mused, leaning against the stand that sat under the monitor at the end of the room. "I've heard good things."

"I thought you might like this," Peter admitted. She grinned, rounding the table to take a seat by the window.

"Cat burglary," Diana muttered. "Love it."

As she passed Jones, she froze. He was humming. Incredulous, she stopped to listen. Somehow, for some God-unknown reason, he was humming the Batman theme song. "Why are you humming?" she whispered.

He shrugged. "Well, something in the file… Popped into my head." _Unbelievable_.

"Alright," Peter said, drawing their attention, "settle down, kids. NYPD's been investigating a series of silver heists. The thief breaks in through the window, then cleans out the place. But here's what NYPD missed." Nora glanced up at him, pleased with exactly how well her plan was working. "All the thefts included at least one piece from a 17th century shipwreck. The Almiranta."

"If we can figure out who else owns pieces from that shipwreck..." Diana said.

"We can predict who's gonna be hit next," Peter concluded. "Now, insurance policies are giving us three potential targets. We're gonna stake out all of them."

Nora had already taken this into consideration, and had a pretty good idea who Alex was going to hit next. "This couple called in a vacation with their alarm company," she noted. "They'll be gone for a week starting tomorrow. That's a lot of lonely silver."

Peter grinned at her, clearly already thinking the same thing. "Then that's the address we'll take." He rounded the table to head toward his office. "This should be fun."

Nora had the same thought, though for an entirely different reason. Flipping her file closed, she followed him, pausing only to lean in and mutter in Jones' ear, "Batman."


	53. Rooftop Recon

Chapter Fifty-Three

Rooftop Recon

Diana visited Peter in his office later that afternoon, closing the door behind her. "You were right," she told him, voice low, "we got a hit."

"Fowler's insurance settlement."

She nodded. "Deposited yesterday. A portion was withdrawn within forty minutes.

That was faster than Peter expected. "ATM?"

"On 32nd Street. I did a radius check, pulled traffic cams near the area, and got these." She passed over a nondescript file.

"Hello, Garrett," Peter muttered, leafing through the photos of the familiar ex-OPR agent.

"I'm headed out to take a look."

He glanced up at her. "Diana, last time Fowler-"

"Tried to shoot me?" She met his eyes evenly. "Yeah, I'm not gonna give him another chance." She certainly was resolved, he had to give her that. She left him to his thoughts, and he continued to glance through the photos, a lot of bad memories stirring in his mind. Ever since meeting the man a year and a half ago, his life seemed to have gotten infinitely more complicated. Things had gone from bad to worse in seemingly no time at all, and they were finally starting to turn back around. With any luck, they would catch him soon, get some answers, and put the whole mess behind them.

Or, maybe that was just wishful thinking.

* * *

Mozzie was camped out at her kitchen table, pouring over the recording of the music box's song with a litany of tools. From her spot in front of the mirror, getting ready for their stakeout, she heard him start playing on his keyboard, going from an echo of the familiar tune to mashing keys at random.

"Easy, Amadeus," she teased, coming around the corner to seek out the hairbrush she'd left on the mantle.

He glanced at his notes. "Additive code, Morse, Baudot, set theory, logarithmic _and_ geographic," he rambled, "every kind of cipher." He huffed in frustration. "Unless, um… glarvendkkgll… means something to you, then it's still just noise."

She sighed, running the brush through her hair absently. "Is there anyone who can help you with this?"

"There's one guy," he allowed. "He works at an antique store in the west 30s."

She set the brush down and turned toward him, intrigued. Mozzie had never mentioned the guy before. "Oh, code breaker?"

"Code maker," he corrected. "Has a rep for hiding codes in gadgets."

She shot him a pointed look. "Government job?"

"Yes, just not our government."

How reassuring. "And you trust him?"

He shrugged. "I trust him enough to play him a partial piece of it and not tell him where it came from." Not ideal, but it would have to do.

She grabbed her blazer and purse off the back of a chair. "Maybe Alex will have our answers."

"Oh, sure," Mozzie scoffed. "Perhaps she decoded it already using a stolen silver tea set." She ignored him, slipping the blazer over her shoulders. "How are you gonna talk to Alex, anyway?"

"FBI's staking out a penthouse," she explained. "She always does rooftop recon one block away."

"Oh. Tell her I said 'ciao.'"

"Will do," she promised.

Nora made her way to the best possible rooftop for recon on the penthouse and waited in the darkness for Alex to make her appearance. She didn't have to wait long before a shadow streaked across the shadows, crouching behind a ledge to fiddle in her bag. Alex was focused on her task, pulling out a pair of binoculars, and failed to notice Nora standing behind her.

"They're on vacation in Miami," she offered helpfully. Alex's shoulders stiffened, but she didn't turn to face Nora. "Look down, to the right. The municipal utility van." She did as she was told, staring through the binoculars for a moment. With a huff, she pushed down her hood and turned to scowl at Nora.

"Caffrey."

"You're looking very To Catch a Thief tonight," Nora noted, ambling over toward her.

"I hope you don't think I'm the little French girl," she huffed.

"I'd like to think there's certain similarities." Alex rolled her eyes. "But I'm not here to turn you in."

"Right. You were just in the neighborhood."

Nora took a seat on the ledge next to her. "If I could reach you like a regular person, maybe it wouldn't have to be this way."

"Sorry, it's kinda hard to keep in touch with this bull's-eye on my back."

Nora fixed her with a hard look. "So, you come out at night to steal the things you fence, then fence them again?"

She laughed. "I don't have the luxury to be creative." She stood, brushing past Nora. "Who else knows I'm here?"

"Just me and Moz." Nora stood and called over her shoulder, "Oh, and the NYPD if you keep going." Alex froze, turning back toward Nora. "They're close to linking the thefts, Alex. I used my friends in the van to get to you first."

Alex's brow furrowed, and she stalked back toward Nora. "Why?"

"The music box."

"You found the code," she mused.

"Tell me you cracked it."

She shot Nora a withering look. "I'm lurking on rooftops, spying into people's windows. Do you think I cracked it?"

Nora laughed. She'd known better than to get her hopes up. Once again, Alex turned to walk away, but Nora called her back. "I can get that target off your back once and for all."

Alex crossed her arms. "How?"

"Hit somewhere else tonight."

"What's my take?"

Nora grinned. "The music box."

Alex didn't look amused. "Deja vu, Nora. We've done this."

"Third time's the charm," she joked with a shrug. "The box is sitting in a safe in Diana Barrigan's apartment."

"Who is she?"

"FBI agent."

If Nora didn't know better, she would have thought she saw Alex's eye twitch. "You want me to break into a fed's apartment?"

"She's sitting down in that van right now," Nora dismissed. "And her girlfriend works the night shift."

Alex considered it, meeting Nora's gaze evenly. "So, what do I do with it once I get it?"

"Return it to the rightful owners," Nora explained, reveling in her plan. "Give it to the Russian Museum. The person who wants it will take his eyes of you and put it on them. What do you say? You're already dressed for it."

Alex swallowed hard, but in the end, she knew Nora was right. "Fine. What's the address?"

Nora gave it to her and sent her on her way before heading off to join Peter and Diana on stakeout duty in the van below.

* * *

Peter got set up in the peace and quiet of the van before Nora arrived. Stakeouts always drove the impatient woman up the wall, and Nora's impatience always drove _Peter_ up the wall in turn. Though, she had seemed awfully excited about this case, so maybe she'd behave for once. Unlikely, but a guy could hope.

While Peter went about his business, Diana entered through the plastic curtain, file in hand. "Where's Caffrey?" she wondered.

"On her way." Diana held up the file. "Fowler?" he guessed.

She nodded. "He was staying in short-term housing a block from that ATM. The clerk ID'd him off the pictures. He's going by the name Aaron Burgess, he left two days ago."

Peter huffed in frustration. Of course Fowler couldn't make it easy for them. "Any hits on that alias?"

"Yeah," Diana said, somber, "and it's a big one." She handed Peter the file to let him see for himself.

He flipped through, and his stomach sank to his shoes. It was an order summary. _SEMTEX CLASS AA EXPLOSIVES, weight 5 KL_. It took him a moment to find his voice. "You sure it's Fowler?"

She nodded, very serious. "Are you gonna tell Nora?" she asked gently.

He flipped back through the order summary, feeling like his chest was being squeezed by an invisible vice. "I don't know if she can handle it," he admitted. He worried learning about it might crush her, might spurn her to make a stupid, rash decision that she could not afford to make. Peter sank down into his chair, running a hand through his hair. "Fowler just became the priority. I need you to look into everything Fowler did with this alias leading up to the explosion and after."

"Off the normal channels," Diana guessed.

"Stay away from the office," he agreed. "Can you work from home?"

"I'd prefer it." The door opened at the front of the van, and their conversation dropped as Nora stepped through.

Diana grabbed her jacket, and Nora's gave her a quizzical look, stopping in the doorway. "Hey, where are you going?"

"I'm headed home," Diana said, pulling on her jacket.

Nora's face fell. "Why?" she whined. "Why? I thought we were all surveiling tonight."

"You guys are fine without me," Diana scoffed.

"Oh, come on," Nora huffed, not dropping it. Peter watched, confused and somewhat amused. "But it's the van. The van's fun."

"You hate the van," Peter reminded her.

Nora shot him a dark look. "I like the van when Diana's in it." Diana arched an eyebrow. "Peter only ever wants to talk about sports."

Peter rolled his eyes; what did she have against sports. "Well, you two have fun with that," Diana teased. "I'm leaving." She pushed past Nora, who reluctantly let her go.

"Alright," Peter huffed, "Diana has more important things to do than sit here and talk to you." He swallowed hard, knowing what he had to do. "Besides, I have something important I need to tell you."

Nora's brow furrowed, and she cast a last glance over her shoulder as Diana disappeared from sight before leaning on against one of the tables bolted into the wall. "What's up?"

Peter was out of his element, talking to Nora about her problems and feelings, but it had to be done. She deserved to know. "You won't admit it," he said softly, "you won't show it, but I know how difficult these last few months have been to you." Her jaw tightened, fingers curling around the edge of the table, but she listened silently. "I'm glad that you trusted me."

She offered a small smile. "Of course."

"I'm returning the favor." He handed her the file. "This is a receipt for parts used in making the bomb on Kyle's plane."

She studied it, eyes hard, trying very hard to act unaffected. "Says here the buyer's name is Aaron Burgess. You know who that is?"

"It's Fowler's alias." The file went slack in her hands and she turned to meet his eyes, swallowing hard. He could see tears pool in the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them away stubbornly, returning her attention to the file. "Diana tracked his purchases and found that. Made one week before the explosion."

She drew in a deep breath. "Fowler bought the explosives and put them on the plane." Her voice cracked at the end.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," she lied.

"We're closing in on Fowler," he assured her. "Diana has a lead."

"Good." She tried a watery smile.

"Nora…"

"Good," she insisted. Peter was at a loss. She looked on the verge of either crumbling or bursting into maniac laughter, and he wasn't sure which one would be worse.

She pushed off from the table, pacing a few steps around the small space for a few minutes. He watched, helpless. Eventually, she fell still, back to him, staring off into space. "You okay?" he prompted.

"Yeah." She stared down at her shoes. "I'm not surprised. Part of me knew it had to be Fowler."

"We get him now, we can put him away," he promised. She didn't look too reassured by the thought. Before he could press that, his phone rang. "Diana?"

"Is Nora with you?" the agent demanded.

"Yes. What's going on?"

"Someone just broke into my house." Ice flooded Peter's veins. "The music box is gone." Peter glanced up at Nora, who was pointedly looking away from him.

With a huff, he hung up. His sympathy turned very quickly to anger and he tossed the phone down, rubbing his face roughly. "What?" Nora wondered.

"Don't do this, Nora," he warned. "Tell me you didn't do this?" He pushed out his chair, pacing away from her.

"Do what?" she insisted, defensive.

He spun back around, leaning on the back of the chair as he stared her down. "Tell me you didn't steal the music box."

Her brow furrowed. "What are you talking about? I'm right here."

"It's been safe in Diana's apartment for months, and the _minute_ I tell you about it, it disappears."

"I didn't take it," she said softly.

Just once, he wished he could believe that. He sighed. "You're not gonna get away with this." She didn't respond. "You're not."


	54. Benched

Chapter Fifty-Four

Benched

News traveled fast. Within a day of the theft, Diana entered Peter's office with a newspaper, the front page emblazoned with all too familiar amber music box, with the headline 'Long Lost Russian Music Box Mysteriously Returned to Museum.'

"Russian Heritage Museum received an anonymous gift," she explained, handing the paper over to Peter. "Seems an antique music box was left in their delivery drop."

He skimmed the article. "They're doing a public showing on Sunday?"

"By invitation only," she noted, "before they ship it back to St. Petersburg."

Peter huffed, looked past Diana down into the bullpen. Nora leaned on the edge of an agent's desk, chatting idly with him. As if she had a sixth sense for when she was being watched, she glanced up, fixing Peter with an icy stare for a moment before returning her attention back to her conversation.

"Thanks." Peter stood and stepped out of the office. "Nora," called down. She arched an eyebrow, eyes still cold. _What right does she have to be mad at _me_?_ It didn't matter. "Get up here."

She rolled her eyes, pushing off of the agent's desk. "Wish me luck," he faintly heard her mutter before starting for the stairs.

Diana excused herself, and Peter paced in his office while he waited. The second she stepped through the door, he practically shoved the newspaper in her face. "You knew the Russians would wanna show this off," he said as she grabbed the paper, taken aback. He could feel her eyes on him as he rounded his desk. She was still playing dumb and indignant. "You're trying to lure Fowler out."

"Someone is," she muttered, reading over the article quickly.

"Oh, would you stop?"

She shrugged. "You could skip the viewing," she suggested.

"Oh, no. I'll be there," he assured her, "but you won't." Her eyes betrayed nothing. "You're a liability, you're benched."

She drew in a deep breath. "You can't pull me off this, Peter," she insisted, voice low and deceptively calm.

"I can do whatever I want with you." He saw her jaw tighten, but she held her tongue. "You're lucky I don't put you in lock down. Get out."

She hesitated in the door, face an implacable mask, but he could feel her barely contained anger stewing under the surface. Nodding slowly, she backed out without a word. He watched her go, tossing the newspaper down on her desk as she passed by. She didn't look back up at him, not even before she stepped into the elevator and disappeared from sight.

* * *

Nora tried not to seethe as she walked, making her way to the address Mozzie had given her. Of course, he was perfectly correct in his accusations, but still. How dare he bench her when she was finally so close to getting to Fowler? And he'd called her a liability. Maybe he _should_ have put her in lock down… if he thought there was anything in the world that would keep her away from Fowler, he was sorely mistaken, and he clearly didn't know her very well.

Her thoughts drifted to the anklet key she had stashed in her apartment for safe-keeping. _Soon_, she reminded herself. _It's not quite time for that yet_.

She stepped into the cramped antique shop, lined with a mishmash of curios and bobbles. Mozzie brightened when he noticed her arrival. "Wow, this is a surprise." She shrugged, still not quite in the mood. "You come here to add to your stuffed squirrel collection?" he asked, pointing out a taxidermied squirrel holding an acorn.

"Let's just say my day opened up," she huffed, trying not to let the swell of anger rise in her once again.

He nodded, not questioning it. "Oh, how did your black-on-black affair go?"

"I found Alex.".

"That's good."

"She has no idea how to solve the code."

"That's bad."

"And I got benched by Peter," she added, bitter.

He stared at her, dumbfounded. "What happened?"

She rolled her eyes. "I… had Alex steal the box from Diana and donate it to the Russians," she admitted quietly.

"Oh, God," Mozzie huffed, reminding her an awful lot of Peter when he got exasperated. "You're trying to draw him out."

She nodded. "Fowler bought the explosives that blew up Kyle's plane."

His eyes softened. "Nora-"

They were cut off by the arrival of the store owner coming out from the back room. He held up a CD. "Very interesting," he told Mozzie before saying something in Japanese.

"Oh, excellent," Mozzie said, turning to Nora. "He can help us."

"Two-parter," the man explained.

"Two-part code," Nora mused. "Interesting idea."

Mozzie nodded. "We can each take half. As they say, divide and conquer."

The man looked excited, saying something in Japanese again. "Brilliant mind," he added in English.

"Akihiro, you flatter me," Mozzie dismissed, bashful. "What he said was-"

"Yeah, yeah. I heard him."

Akihiro said something else, beckoning Mozzie to follow him. Mozzie lifted the counter top and stepped through before turning back to Nora, concerned. "Um… are you okay?"

"Yeah, Moz," she said lightly, "I'm fine. I'm gonna head home."

Mozzie stared for a second before deciding that was good enough for him. He bowed lightly, offering a Japanese greeting, which she returned, before following Akihiro to the back.

Before she turned to leave, her eyes caught on something that made her heart pound painfully in her chest. It was a beautiful antique revolver with ivory set into the grip. Stupid. She tore her eyes from it and turned to leave. Stupid, stupid. _Violence requires no imagination_. Stupid. Reckless. Wrong. _Just because I don't like guns, doesn't mean I can't to use one_. Her feet froze, and she ran a hand through her hair, biting her lip hard enough she thought she might break the skin. _Fowler killed Kyle_.

Nora turned back around, heart pounding and hands shaking. Mozzie and Akihiro were busy chatting in the back room, paying her no mind. Before she could talk herself out of it, she slipped silently behind the counter.

The gun felt heavy in her hand as she stowed it in her purse and fled from the store as if nothing had happened.

* * *

Peter called Diana back to his office later that day, after he'd had time to cool down and think. And do some digging, of course. She closed the door behind her. "The Russian Heritage Museum is invitation only," he explained, "and they're sticking to that."

She unrolled a paper she'd brought with her. "Pulled these from municipal archives." Blueprints, showing all the entrances into the building.

He smirked at her. "We can stake out the building. If Fowler shows up, we'll grab him outside." She nodded. "Alright, listen. I want Nora's anklet monitored continuously."

"You think she'll try something?"

"Nora wants Fowler more than I do." For good reason, of course, but she didn't want to do things the right way. He felt for her, really, he did. But she wasn't thinking clearly, and if he didn't do something about it, she was going to throw away everything she'd been working for. He was protecting her from herself, even if he wasn't sure she deserved it. "And I can't let that happen."

Peter didn't see Nora over the next couple days while he got things set up. Jones kept him updated with her movements, and she mostly stayed home, which should have been a weight off Peter's shoulder, but it wasn't. He knew just how much she could accomplish from the comfort of her apartment. At very least, she wouldn't be able to show up at the Museum without Peter knowing about it.

"You in place?" Peter asked Diana over his earpiece. He stood away from the Museum, inconspicuous and unassuming.

"I've got eyes on the front entrance," she confirmed.

"Where's Caffrey?"

"She's at home," she said a moment later.

That was a slight weight off Peter's shoulders. "Let's hope the little guy is there to keep an eye on her." He'd tried, unsuccessfully, to get a hold of Mozzie, but had no such luck. He wondered if Nora had told him not to pick up if Peter came calling.

* * *

Nora dressed with shaking hands. Hair pinned up, makeup done, favorite red dress hugging every curve perfectly. "How do I look?" she wondered, glancing at little Bugsy who sat on the bed. "Don't answer that." She smiled down at him fondly, petting his cute little head. "You're inscrutable, you know that, Bugsy?"

She moved over to the bookshelf and pulled out the revolver. It was loaded with the bullets she'd managed to buy from a contact who'd been rather surprised to find Nora Caffrey looking for ammunition. "They say accessories make the outfit," she muttered, stowing it in her clutch. She picked up the invitation she'd forged, showing it to Bugsy. "You buy it?" He cocked his head, panting lightly. Satisfied, she tucked it in after the gun.

Last was the finishing touch. She pulled out a book from the bottom shelf, hollowed out to hide the anklet key. She propped her leg up on the coffee table, and tried to pretend her heart wasn't attempting to beat out of her chest as she freed herself from the anklet.

"I'd look pretty odd if I stay in one spot all afternoon," she mused, glancing at Bugsy, "since I'm sure Peter's got someone watching." She worked the anklet under Bugsy's collar, making sure it wasn't so tight he wouldn't be able to breathe, before locking it into place. The yellow light flashed back to green. Bugsy growled at the unfamiliar weight of it, twisting to snap at it. "Sorry, buddy," she sighed, petting him again. "I owe you one."

As ready as she was ever going to be, Nora left for the Russian Heritage Museum.

* * *

Mozzie bustled into Nora's apartment excitedly. "Nora, we've had a breakthrough of unforeseen magnitude," he announced, nose buried in his notebook. "Akihiro's run on haiku, paired with my rejection of predetermined-" He happened to glance up and noticed he was talking to an empty room. "Nora?" No response. "_Nora_?"

At that, Bugsy scampered out from under the table, tail wagging and tongue lolling out. "Oh," he muttered, stooping down to pet the dog, "does June know your up here?" Then he noticed the green light. Nora's anklet was hooked through Bugsy's collar, hanging off awkwardly. "Oh, Benjamin Siegelbaum. What has she done?"

And that, he discovered as he stood and noticed the very peculiar display on the table, wasn't the worse of it.

* * *

Fowler showed, as expected, and Peter followed him in, flashing his badge to get through. It didn't take long for Fowler to make him, slipping through the crowd to put space between them. Peter called out to him, and the man dodged past an unsuspecting security guard, darting up a flight of stairs that had been cordoned off. Peter hopped the rope, even as the guard attempted to stop him. "Sir, you can't go up there."

Peter paused long enough to flash his badge. "I am a federal agent." He raced after Fowler, the guard following along. "Where do these stairs lead?"

"The modernist gallery," the guard explained. "It's closed for renovations."

They followed Fowler around a corner as a door slammed shut. Peter tried to knob, to no avail. "It's locked," he huffed. "Do you have a key?" The man pulled out a key ring and stared fumbling around with it. "Fowler, open up!"

"You don't know what you're messing with!" Fowler called back.

"Let me try this key," the guard muttered, beginning the arduous task of testing out his litany of keys.

"Surrender, Fowler," he ordered, "right now."

"Let it go, Burke."

Peter huffed, pacing away. "Get that thing open," he demanded. It was a slow-going process, and Peter was very quickly losing his patience when his phone rang with an unfamiliar number. "Hello?"

"Suit, we have a code red," the little guy announced. Oh, sure, when Peter wanted to talk to him, he was nowhere to be found. But when _he_ wanted a word, he chose to call at the worst possible time.

"Now is not the time, Mozzie," he hissed, ready to hang up.

"It's a dark day when I turn towards the system instead of recoiling."

"Just spit it out."

"Remember when you asked me to tell you if Nora was gonna do something stupid?" Peter's mouth went dry. "Well, I regretfully report that's she's out of her anklet."

"Damn it!" How did she get out of her anklet without triggering the alarms? Though, that was hardly the important part at the moment. She could be anywhere, and they had no way of tracking her.

"But that's not the stupid part," Mozzie added quickly. He paused for a second, hesitating. "She's got a gun." Peter's blood ran cold.


	55. Hell Hath No Fury

Chapter Fifty-Five

Hell Hath No Fury

The forged invitation held up under scrutiny, and Nora was let into the museum without issue. "Thank you," she said to the woman at the door, forcing as convincing a smile as she could manage. Inside, a metal detector stood, complete with a security guard keeping an eye on it. That simply would not do. She leaned up close to him, batting her eyes. "Excuse me, but there's someone over there causing problems, trying to get in without an invitation."

The man nodded and turned to check it out. She moved quickly, tossing her clutch past the outside of the metal detector and stepping through in time to catch it on the other side. No one paid her any mind.

She meandered through, scanning the faces in the crowd for Fowler. He was nowhere near the display of the music box, and she made her way to a small courtyard where people mingled around an elegant fountain. Her eyes caught on the second story windows above, just making out Fowler beyond one of them. She broke out into a run, needing to find a way up there.

Inside, she found a staircase that wound its way up. Several peoples' heads turned as she hopped the rope blocking off the stairs and raced up. Following her keen sense of direction, she turned to the left. "Is anybody coming?" she heard Peter demand, and she stopped short, peering around the corner. Sure enough, Peter paced along a small hallway with a security guard in front of a door she was sure would take her to Fowler.

She panted, mind racing. She would just have to find another way in. _Has to be through the window_, she realized. She ran back off to the right. A balcony overlooked the courtyard, catty-corner to the room Fowler had seemingly locked himself into, if Peter standing sentry outside it was anything to go by. He sat there, furiously tearing a tarp into strips.

Her eyes fell on the red banners that hung down in front of the balcony, running her fingers over them. The fabric was thick. She gave on a sharp tug, and it held tight, secured to the roof. They were tied to the balcony with a thick yellow rope.

She pulled the gun out of her clutch, double-checking that the safety was on, before stowing it down the front of her dress, making sure it was held snug in her bra. The front of her dress bulged out awkwardly, but that was the least of her worries. She dropped the clutch to the ground and spared another glance at Fowler through the window. He saw her, and she hoped the sight of her sent chills down his spine as he realized what she was there for.

He wasn't the only one who spotted her. "Caffrey!" she heard from the courtyard below. Diana. She ignored her. "Nora!" Nora stepped back inside. She needed something to cut the rope with.

A glass display case was set against the wall, lined with several antique, ornamental knives. The case wasn't locked, and she pulled out the one that looked sharpest before returning to the balcony. "Nora!" she heard Diana call from the stairs, and she paused. "You've got nowhere to go." Nora gave her a hard look, shifting the knife to her other hand, and stepped out to the balcony. She spared a second to cut a swath off one of the banners, draping it over her shoulders, before freeing the banner furthest from Fowler's window. The knife fell from her hands with a clatter and she climbed up onto the railing.

People below started pointing, shouting. Behind her, she could hear Diana's footsteps as she made a dash to stop her. With a deep breath, Nora kicked off hard from the rail and jumped. She pumped her legs through the air, letting inertia carry her in an arc toward the window. She spun and twisted around, heading shoulder first to her target. At the last second, she tucked her head in.

She crashed through the window with about as much grace as one could manage, falling to the floor, dazed for just a second. She could feel small shards of glass that had made it under her makeshift cloak, digging into her flesh. More pieces tangled in her hair. It didn't matter. She pushed herself up, the banner fluttering to her feet, and pulled out the gun and turned off the safety.

It was a dramatic entrance, one Fowler clearly hadn't expected. He stood, reeling back as she took aim at him. A vase on the mantle behind his head shattered into dust as she pulled the trigger.

"Nora!" she heard Peter shout from the other side of the door.

That didn't matter. She stalked forward, hand not wavering from where it was pointed point blank at Fowler's temple. "I have five shots left," she warned him. "That's the only warning you get."

He backed away from her slowly, empty palms out in front of him. "Whatever you think happened-"

"_Tell me why you killed Kyle_," she demanded. "You bought the explosives."

"Caffrey."

"You blew up the plain to get rid of us."

"No," he insisted.

She swallowed hard. "What was in it for you?"

"Jesus, Caffrey," Fowler huffed. She could see the beads of sweat dripping down his neck, see the fear in his eyes. "You think you're the only one who lost something?"

She pulled the hammer back, the click resounding through the air. Her hands trembled slightly. "Don't play with me, Fowler."

"You think I wanted to spend the last year of my life chasing you and a stupid box?" She didn't answer. "It cost me everything." There was real despair in his eyes, she realized, feeling bits of her resolve slowly start to crumble… _No, don't feel bad for him. He deserves this_. "My career is over. My wife is gone.

Banging echoed behind them. Peter, she assumed, trying to get in. She wanted so, _so _badly to pull the trigger. To finally end the whole terrible affair. To get revenge.

She lowered the gun. Fowler let out a breath. Anger bubbled in her chest all over again.

She raised the gun again.

The door burst open with a crash, and Peter shoved his way inside, gun drawn. On her. "Stay out of this, Peter," she hissed, feeling tears starting to prickle behind her eyes.

"Nora, put the gun down," he commanded, looking as desperate as she felt. Diana circled around behind her. They inched forward. "Nora, don't do this."

"You know he killed Kyle," she reminded him, hating the way her voice cracked.

"I didn't kill him," Fowler said calmly, like he didn't have a gun in his face.

"Who did?"

"I'm-" He scowled.

"What do you know?" He glanced away. "Tell me what you know."

He took a step closer, eyes returning to hers. "You wanna kill me, Nora? Go ahead an pull the trigger."

"Jesus, Fowler," Peter huffed, "you're not helping this." Nora couldn't think. She couldn't breathe. The first tears started spilling down her cheeks. Peter's voice was soft now, when he spoke again. "Nora, do not do this."

"I know he killed him," she muttered, voice barely a cracked whisper. Fowler closed his eyes, waiting for the end. "He killed Kyle."

"Listen to me," Peter said. "If you pull that trigger, you will regret it for the rest of your life, Nora." She swallowed hard. She could pull the trigger. She could live with regret. She could- "You're not a killer."

She bit back a sob. "I want him to know how it felt." Fowler's eyes darted open at that. "How _he_ felt."

"Look at me," Peter urged. She fought it. She fought it _so hard_. "Look at me, Nora." If she looked, she knew what she would see, and she _didn't want to see it_. "Nora. Look at me, Nora. Come on." Her hand wavered on the gun. Fowler's eyes fell to the floor, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.

Slowly, tears now freely running down, she turned her head. Peter's eyes met hers, concerned, pleading, softer than she deserved. "This isn't who you are."

Her chest heaved as his words echoed in her head like the toll of a bell, loud and insistent and omnipresent. It hurt to think._ This isn't who you are. _It hurt to feel._ This isn't who you are. _It hurt. _This isn't who you are. _She looked once more at Fowler, more willing to die than to give her the answers she sought. _This isn't who you are this isn't who you are this isn't who you are._

With a wrecked sob, she let her hand fall to her side. Peter stepped forward, and she pressed the gun into his hand, turning away. She tore a hand through her glass strewn hair, pacing away, trying to pull the pieces of herself back together, to cobble together a mask. "Cuff her," Peter finally told Diana.

Nora offered herself without resistance, letting her arms be pulled surprisingly gently behind her back, cold metal closing around her wrists. "How are we gonna handle this?" Diana asked.

"Call Jones," Peter decided. "You two can handle the official Bureau response. Take her back to the office. I'll figure out what to do next." Diana nodded, and led Nora away.

Nora sat quiet in the back of Diana's car on the way back to the office. She barely heard Diana's conversation with Jones, barely saw the streets flash by. She hardly noticed when the came to a stop until Diana was opening the door and gently helping her out of the car. She uncuffed Nora before they went in, and she made Nora sit patiently in Peter's office until he returned with Fowler.

She didn't have to wait long. She pressed her back against the wall, arms crossed, to listen to what Fowler had to say. Honestly, she was surprised Peter let her stay, but she wasn't going to question it.

"I was just like you, Burke," the man said, sadly, wistfully. "Moving up in the Bureau. Beautiful wife. Things were good then."

Peter studied him for a moment, leaning against the window sill. "Your wife was murdered," he noted softly.

"Yeah." Nora swallowed hard, averting her gaze. She hadn't known that. _You think you're the only one who lost something?_ "Did my best to put the pieces back together, but… all I could think about was vengeance. Then out of the blue one day, I get a phone call. Anonymous voice pointing me right to her killer. So, I tracked him down-"

"And you killed him," she said. He nodded, meeting her eyes, looking like he wanted to say something, but he held his tongue.

He shook his head before continuing his story. "A few days later, I get a package in the mail. It's a video."

"Of what you had done," Peter guessed.

"Followed by another phone call. Man tells me he can arrange it for me to be transferred into OPR."

"OPR?" Peter echoed, incredulous.

"Yeah."

"He had enough clout to make that happen?"

"Yeah."

"Is he with the Bureau?" Nora shifted impatiently. This was important, she realized, but she needed answers, needed to know what all of this had to do with her and Kyle.

"I don't know," Fowler admitted. "After that, he told me if I could get him the music box, the video would disappear."

Peter nodded, as the pieces fell into place for what felt like the first time since the whole thing had begun. "Give it to your mystery blackmailer, get your life back."

"That was our deal. So, I traced the box to Caffrey."

"But she didn't have it," Peter noted.

Fowler shrugged. "Well, everyone thought she did. But she was in prison."

"So you went after Kyle," she spat.

"I figured he'd know where you kept it."

Peter scooped up a file and handed Fowler a photo from inside it. "You're the man with the ring."

He studied it for a moment. "He was signaling you with his ATM card that day, huh?"

"Yeah," she allowed. "It worked." She drew in a steadying breath. "Why'd you buy the explosives?"

"Oh, that was Kyle's idea." Anger boiled in her chest, and she scoffed, pushing away from the wall, fighting the urge to… well, do anything besides curl her hands into fists at her side and bite her lip. Peter held up a palm, urging her to calm down and listen. "Look, I set up your getaway as part of Mentor."

"Oh, Mentor was real?" she huffed.

"Yeah." His voice was entirely earnest. "Kyle felt that no matter how far away you two got, you would never be safe, and I don't think he was wrong. Hey, look." He glanced over his shoulder, and dropped his voice down low. "I don't know who the guy is pulling the strings, but I have never seen anyone with the kind of juice he has."

She hardly cared about that, at the moment. It was a problem for another day. "So, it was his idea to blow up the plane?"

"Yeah, you two bail out over the water. Boom."

She frowned. "Fake our death and live happily ever after." The words felt like ash on her tongue.

Peter turned to Fowler. "The bomb exploded early. Why?"

"I don't know."

"He called you from the plane," Nora reminded him. His brow furrowed. "We heard it on the cockpit recording."

"Kyle never called me," he insisted.

Nora and Peter shared a look, confused. Fowler had no reason to lie, and he didn't sound like he was. "Your name was listed on the phone," Peter said.

Fowler shot him a dry look. "I'm not that stupid."

Which meant someone was trying to frame him. Before she could voice that thought, Diana stepped into the office, Jones in tow, anklet in hand. "Boss."

"Yeah."

"The Marshals reset the key. Peter sighed, glancing between Nora and Diana. "Put it on her. Take her home."

"Peter," Nora protested softly, pleading with her eyes, knowing it would about as effective on him as flirting would have been, "not right now."

"Go home," he told her firmly. Pouting slightly, she picked up her clutch that had been picked up from the museum at some point, and followed Diana and Jones out of the office.


	56. Loose Ends

Chapter Fifty-Six

Loose Ends

Nora felt numb and empty as she stepped back into her apartment, free of Diana and Jones' pitying stares, left to nothing but her own thoughts. On instinct, she pulled out a glass and picked out a bottle of wine, content to just loose herself to the cloud of intoxication and not feel anything for a while.

Her hand trembled, frozen where she moved to pour the first glass of wine. _You're not going to find what your looking for in the bottom of this bottle_, Peter's voice nagged at the back of her mind. That's what he'd told her, so many months ago, the night Kyle died. _Don't do this to yourself, Nora_.

It hit her like a wave; memories of slurred words, the stench of sour beer, and disappointment. Looking in the refrigerator, stomach growling, and finding only an expired carton of milk, a litany of leftovers that have long-since turned green and fuzzy, a few slices of generic brand American cheese singles, a sad browning apple, and a twelve-pack of beer that hadn't been there that morning. The buzzing of flies as they circled the growing collection of cans that littered the coffee table.

_You're not going to find what you're looking for at the bottom of this bottle._

Suddenly repulsed, Nora left the unpoured wine and empty glass on the counter and took a seat at the table. There was nothing to do but think. Idly, she startled fiddling with the extra bullets from the gun that had been taken away from her, setting them up like chess pieces.

She couldn't sit still, her thoughts churning violently in her mind, her carefully constructed composure slipping farther and farther out of her control. She stood, pacing away, running a hand through her hair. What had they learned? That there was someone over Fowler's head pulling the strings. Just another thread to follow. She sat back down and stared at the bullets.

The sight of them suddenly sickened her and angered her all at the same time. Why did Kyle have to die? What was so goddamned important about the music box? What was the code? She swept the bullets off table, sending them flying across the room.

She ran her fingers over a paper scrawled with some of Mozzie's notes, staining her fingers with the charcoal he'd used to write them. Frustrated, she crumbled the paper up and tossed it away and buried her head in her hands. The charcoal smeared over her face, but she couldn't be bothered to care.

She wasn't sure how much time passed. The sun had traced an arc across the sky into late afternoon. Somewhere along the way, she started to cry.

* * *

Peter let Fowler take a break from their interrogation to drink a cup of coffee. The man leaned on the rail, looking out over the bullpen. Once he had some time to collect himself a little, Peter joined him there, file in hand.

"So, what's gonna happen to me?" Fowler wondered.

Peter sighed. It wasn't such an easy matter. "I haven't decided," he admitted. "You wanna help me?" Fowler stood upright, interest piqued. "The flash drive I got from you that day I…"

"The day you shot me?" he supplied, dryly.

"Yeah. It contained the date, time, and place of a meeting. Who were you meeting?"

Fowler drew in a deep breath. "I have been trying forever to get to the guy pulling the strings," he explained. "I'd finally gotten a meeting with the intermediary."

"What was the name of the guy you were meeting?"

"I don't know. I was gonna find out that day."

"You didn't know it?"

"No."

Peter huffed. Of course it couldn't be so easy. "I was there," he told Fowler.

"What?" An agent came up the stairs, and they fell silent, waiting for him to pass. Fowler leaned in close, dropping his voice. "Did you see him?"

"No, he was good. He dodged my cameras. I never got a clear look at him." Peter dug through the file and pulled out the photo of their patchwork man. "But I got this." Fowler took it, brow furrowed. "You know him?"

"Yeah," he sighed. They returned to Peter's office, and Fowler directed him to the database that would give them answers. "Julian Larssen. We trained together in Special Forces."

"You didn't know he was involved in this?"

"No, I haven't seen him in years."

Peter pulled up a photo of Larssen. "That's our patchwork man," he decided. He saw Diana's head as she came up the stairs, and spared her a glance. She motioned for him to join her. "Excuse me." Her face was grim as he stepped out of his office. "What's going on?"

"NYPD just called in a homicide in an antique shop downtown," she explained. "The same antique shop where Nora got her gun." Peter's brow furrowed. Nora wouldn't have killed the shopkeeper to get the gun; she would have just stolen it the way she stole everything else that she set her mind to.

He decided to check it out, leaving Jones to sit on Fowler while they were gone. They arrived on the scene where, sure enough, the owner of the store was shot dead behind the counter. "Rule out a snatch and grab?" he asked the NYPD detective.

"Two shots to the chest," the detective explained, as if Peter couldn't see that for himself. "As far as we can tell, nothing was taken." Except the gun Nora stole earlier, but he didn't mention that.

He sighed, trying to make sense of it. It seemed a bit too convenient that the owner of the same shop Nora just stole from would turn up dead a few hours later. Then he heard it; the familiar chime of the music box's song drifting out of the back room.

The detective noticed the look on Peter's face as he listened. "That was playing when we came in," he said.

"I'll check it out," Peter decided. He and Diana made their way back. A reel-to-reel was playing the song and notes were scattered across the table around it.

"What the hell is going on?" Diana wondered, voice soft so the police officers that milled around wouldn't overhear.

"The shop owner was working on the code." He glanced at the officer who was looking over the notes with his brow furrowed. "Turn that off," Peter told him. The man fiddled with the buttons and the music cut off. Peter pointed to the notepad the man had been reading. "Let me see that."

"Eureka," Diana read, where it was written in bold, black letters on the bottom of the page.

"He must have figured something out." Peter shot a hard look at the officer. "When you're done with this, it comes to me." The officer nodded. They were joined by the detective. "How 'bout surveillance tapes?"

"Gunman was smart," the detective allowed, "knew to avoid the cameras. But this is interesting." He motioned for the officer to play the surveillance footage. "Surveillance tape was queued up to some earlier footage." The screen blinked on, and there was Nora, glancing over her shoulder so her face was pointed toward the camera.

"Nora," Diana muttered.

Peter's stomach dropped. "She's the next target." They rushed for the door.

"What the hell's going on?" the detective called after them, but he got no answer.

* * *

Eventually, Nora regained herself. Her crying stopped; really, it was doing no good anyway. She went into the bathroom to clean off the smudges of charcoal and the wrecked remnants of her makeup that were smeared down her cheeks from her tears. Her reflection in the mirror almost scared her. She looked half-crazed, like someone who'd nearly shot a man in cold blood to avenge the death of her love. She finally took a brush through her tangled curls, and small shards of glass fell with small tinkling sounds.

She was just about to change out of her dress when a knock on the door demanded her attention. Peter, she assumed. Except it wasn't. Alex leaned up against the door frame, smiling tightly. "Hi, Nora," she greeted, "can I come in?"

She sighed. It seemed like any conversation she had with Alex ended in either an argument or a theft, and she wasn't really interested in either of those at the moment. Still, she stepped aside. "Sure, come on in."

Alex meandered toward the table while Nora poured her a glass of wine, looking over some of Mozzie's notes with mute curiosity, when Nora's phone started ringing. Peter. She let it ring. "You gonna answer that?"

"No," she decided. Whatever Peter had to tell her, it could wait. She was sure anything she stood to learn from his interrogation of Fowler would just reignite her anger.

Alex took a sip of her wine. "Is the target officially off my back?"

Nora stared at her. "Whoever wants the box knows you don't have it now," she said dryly.

"Well, it'll be nice to stop prowling around rooftops for a paycheck," Alex joked. "What about you? Did you get what you need?"

Nora considered it for a moment. "I found Fowler, but I still don't know who killed Kyle."

"And the code?"

"Moz'll crack it."

Alex nodded slowly, regarding Nora for a moment. "I chased that music box for a long time, Nora. I almost feel guilty I brought you in."

Nora rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on," she dismissed, "I forced my way in."

The corners of Alex's mouth quirked up. "True, but that's just-"

"What we do," Nora finished in tandem with her.

"It's kinda sad," Alex mused, "it's all coming to an end." She reached into her giant handbag and started digging around for something.

They nearly jumped out of their skins when the door burst open. "Freeze," Peter boomed, gun drawn, Diana on his heels. "Hands where I can see them."

Alex spun slowly, eyes bugging out, raising her hands, now holding a small notepad and a pen. She gave them a withering look as they lowered their guns. "May I?" She scribbled something down on one of the sheets of paper and tore it out. "My number," she explained, turning to Nora to hand it over. "From now on, I'll answer it. See you around, Nora."

Alex turned for the door and pushed past Peter and Diana, who were both slowly holstering their guns. "I thought we sent you to Italy, Alex," Peter said after her.

Alex paused, turning toward him with a small smirk. "Snuck back in," she admitted lightly.

"You are quick on your feet," he mused, "like a cat." Alex's brow furrowed, not catching Peter's meaning. "That silver around your neck, Spanish by chance?"

"Dunno," she lied. She glared back at Nora, who offered a half-hearted shrug and dropped her glance to the floor.

"See you around," Peter relented, and Alex slipped out, closing the door behind her.

"You wanna explain the guns?" Nora prompted.

"Someone killed Akihiro Tanaka," Diana said.

Nora blinked. The antique shop guy? "We thought they were headed here next," Peter added.

"Why?"

"Surveillance tapes at the antique shop paused on your image."

Her blood ran cold. "Well, I wasn't there alone." Mozzie. She scrambled for her phone, dialing his number quickly. "Come on, Moz. Pick up, pick up, pick up…"

He didn't pick up.

* * *

Mozzie took some time to calm down, enjoying a cup of tea on a bench in one of his favorite spots in the city. He'd cracked the code, but Nora had, in typical Nora fashion, gone off and done something rash and stupid. He had to trust that the suit would have her back. He couldn't deny the swell of guilt that pressed on him at the thought of ratting her out, but it was for her own good. He would apologize later, when she wasn't dead or in handcuffs.

The pain didn't register at first, even as his cup dropped from his hands. Hot, sticky blood ran down his chest as the white-hot burn ignited. It was like the pain shorted out his brain. A hazy cloud swirled over him, and he couldn't even find the means to scream, to call out, to cry, to do anything more than stare bewildered as crimson bloomed over his shirt.

He was barely aware of the man. He was talking to him, saying something, but all he could hear was ringing. He vaguely noticed the man's hand dip into his jacket, searching, and he tried to bat the man's arm away. There was no strength in his arms. "Have a great day," the man said, taking with him the notebook that contained the code. He clapped Mozzie on the back and walked away.

Mozzie couldn't stop himself from toppling over on the bench, hand pressed to his bleeding chest. The world went dark around the edges, and Mozzie was aware of no more.

**End of Part Three**

Credit Song:

_Madness _by Ruelle


End file.
